


Baby Feathers

by MobiBlue



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crowley/Aziraphale up to interpretation, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Parental Aziraphale, ineffable parents, mentions of abuse, parental crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 17:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20313208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MobiBlue/pseuds/MobiBlue
Summary: When Crowley has to leave town for a few days, Aziraphale finds a good deed leaves him way over his head. (I'm bad at descriptions just read)P.S first fic on A03 so tell me if I did anything wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

"It's only for a few days, angel," Crowley defends, throwing the pieces of bread harder than needed. The surprised ducks squawk away, but quickly return for their prize. It was going to happen eventually, heaven and hell was going to want them back eventually. But Aziraphale just wished the peace and quiet could have lasted a little longer.

"Just one of their stupid check ins. Making sure I've been causing enough trouble up here,"

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," the angel pouted. After actually seeing hell a couple weeks ago, Aziraphale was in no rush to send anyone there again.

"Look Aziraphale, I'll be fine. Just water my plants and don't let anyone touch the Bentley," Crowley growled in frustration. He didn't like this any more than the principality did, but thanks to Adam, hell was finally giving him a chance to smooth things over. It sure was a good thing the young Antichrist retained his powers, especially the ones involving changing memories.

The angel gave a sigh and gently tossed some bread into the water.

"I guess with you gone, I'll finally have time to reorganize the shop," If Aziraphale couldn't stop the demon he might as well make the best out of it. Relaxing at the approval, Crowley glanced at his watch.

"Damn it," he hisses. It was time. Though he'd never admit it, the idea of going back under scared Crowley. What if when he went down he never came back? Not wanting to be alone, he didn't protest being escorted to the main entrance of the occult world bellow. And as he sunk lower and lower so did his heart.

********************************************************************************************************************************* 

Aziraphale just couldn't shake the image of Crowley descending as he walked back to the bookshop. He just felt so helpless as he watched his friend move further and further away. The principality shook his head, the demon was going to be back soon enough so he should stop worrying. He could finally spend as long as he wanted getting the shop on order, or perhaps practice his cooking skills. Maybe a trip out to Taddsfield to check in on Adam was in order.

No matter how hard he tried to cheer himself up, a sinking feeling was still in the angel's chest. It was starting to get dark he really should have taken the bus, but the bookshop wasn't far now. He wanted to walk anyway, it had been raining non-stop for the past week and today there was finally a break in the downpour. The streets were practically empty now, except the occasional drunk or person waiting at the bus stop. And it was also a quiet night, so it was quite easy to hear the commotion ringing out from the alleyway just behind the shop.

It really was none of his business, but as an angel of the lord Aziraphale just couldn't stand there. It was hard to tell in the low light, but two larger forms were cornering a smaller one against the back of the alley. The little form tried to dash past and escape, but was quickly apprehended. It heart-wrenchingly cried out, trying to break it's captor's grip.

"S-stop this!" Aziraphale shouted stepping into the alley. Confrontation was never his thing, but this simply couldn't be allowed to continue. Two men turned slowly and menacingly. One of them was struggling to maintain a grip on a young boy. At least that's what Aziraphale thought he saw, the small shape seemed to morph in strange ways in the dark. It must have been a trick of the light.

"This doesn't concern you," The one holding the child barked. His partner moved in on Aziraphale until they where almost touching. The man glared down, almost as if he was looking at some sort of roach.

"You unhand that child his instant, you ruffians!" the angel demanded, doing his best to look intimidating. The larger man just laughed, and gave the blonde a shove. Aziraphale was going to have use some extreme methods. The principality moved faster than humanly possible, slamming his fist into the attacker's jaw with all the force he could muster. The man drooped like a rock, out cold. Seeing his chance the boy doubled his effort, the shadow of his small body once again contorting in strange shapes.

Aziraphale rushed forward and knocked the second man off his balance. In terror the child squirmed away into the darkness. Red hot anger flashing in the man's eyes, he drew a handgun and pointed it straight at the angel. But before he had a chance to pull the trigger, he was miracled into a dreamless sleep. Shaking slightly and rubbing his sore knuckles Aziraphale straitened himself and took a deep breath. Looking around, he saw the small figure crouched in the corner of the alley trying his best to disappear. The poor little boy was obviously in shock, shaking uncontrollably.

"It's okay dear, you're safe no-" the angel reassured moving closer to where he could see the boy. But, Aziraphale suddenly stopped and was at a loss for words. The terrified child looked up at him with watery eyes and tried to hide himself with his dirty wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI this is my first post on Ao3, this fic specifically is on Fanfiction.net and I decided to post it here too. Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale stared at the small pair of wings. And the child -cherub- stared right back, in too much sock to process what happened. If the child were human Aziraphale would say he couldn't have been older than nine. But, it was hard to tell anything in the dark. The boy was filthy, covered with dried on mud and dirt. He had no shoes, and was barely covered in some sort of hospital gown. Poor thing must be freezing. It quivered behind it's unruly mess of stuck together feathers. What was such a young angel here in this alley, much less outside of heaven?

A small groan form one of the unconscious attackers brought Aziraphale back to the present. Questions could wait, first priory is to get to safety. Carefully, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible, the angel bent down and outstretched his hand.

"Come along, dear," he whispered softly. But the cherub backed against the wall, terrified of the idea of going anywhere with this stranger. Their time was running out, and soon the two men would wake up. With no other idea of how to calm the child down, Aziraphale slipped off his coat. He was out of practice, since there was no need to materialize his wings for thousands of years. They ripped through the back of his shirt, and almost touched both sides of the alley.

The child calmed down instantly and gaped at the white feathers. He looked so in awe, it was like the cherub had never seen any other wings except his own. There was no protest this time as Aziraphale wrapped the small body in his coat. The blonde held the boy close, as he made his escape from the alley. It was strange, usually Aziraphale could feel anther angelic presence even from a distance, but as he held the cherub he felt nothing. Hiding his wings, the angel stepped into the sidewalk, fumbling with one open hand for his keys.

A small bell rung as he swung open the door and shuffled into the bookshop. The small form barely even noticed, he laid against Aziraphale's shoulder in a trance like state. The cherub didn't move a muscle as his rescuer ascended the stairs into the apartment above. It was a cozy little apartment, cluttered but somehow never really lived in. Old books were scatted on almost every surface, knitted blankets on every sofa or chair, and the occasional potted plant here or there. It was exactly what you would expect from a great-grandmother's cottage.

Aziraphale settled the bundled boy in the middle of the sofa. Clutching the angel's coat like a life preserver, his big brown eyes stared forward unseeing. He was a scrawny thing, small but not quite skin and bones. And his hair was shaved so short It was hard to tell what was hair and what was dirt. The poor thing was still shaking, wrapping himself tighter in the tartan coat. The principality should really be taking him back home, but he just looked so small.

"How about a nice cup of coca?" Aziraphale asked. The cherub just stared blankly. A few minutes later the principality came in from the kitchen holding a steaming mug complete with mini-marshmallows. The heavenly aroma pierced through the child's shock and he eyed the cup longingly. Thin arms reached out and took the wing-handled mug into his small hands. For a moment the boy simply sat there enjoying the heat in his fingers. Then taking a small sip, he almost purred with delight. As the child nursed his drink, he slowly became more aware of his surroundings. He took in the old books and soft decor along with his chocolate. The cherub was much calmer now, but he still looked at Aziraphale suspiciously.

Remembering the alleyway, the angel rematerialized his wings and outstretched them slowly. Once again the brown eyes widened in wonder. Still covered by the large coat, the child scooted forward toward the slightly messy wings. Since they were never out, Aziraphale never really put too much effort into grooming(much to Crowley's horror). But, that didn't bother the cherub. Tentatively he traced the soft down with his fingers, and ran his hand along the larger primary feathers. Once the boy was seemingly satisfied, Aziraphale drew back his wings so they wouldn't wake up as much space. The angel felt a strange wholeness with them out again, like he was more of himself.

"So, what's an angel like you doing down here?" asked Aziraphale softly. The child have him a confused look and tilted his head.

"Angel?"

A wave of panic swelled up in Aziraphale's chest. What kind of angel didn't know what he was? Unless this child wasn't a cherub at all. That would explain why Aziraphale couldn't sense him or why he was down here in the first place. That's why he was so amazed at wings, because he truly had only seen his own.

"It's it's...how do I explain this? Um, let's see. I am a angel but, I don't think you are. Angels may look like humans but they are not. First of all they can live forever and..." stammered Aziraphale but the blank look he got back told him he was wasting his time. Crowley was always much better at explaining things to humans. He was about to try again when a rumble came from the small bundle on the couch. That was one thing that set humans apart from angels, humans had to eat to survive.

"Oh dear, you must be starving!" Aziraphale jumped up cursing his bad hospitality. There wasn't much to pick from in the kitchen, since the angel mostly ate out. But, after some searching he happened upon a hearty duck soup. Once it was warmed up the boy scarfed it down ravenously, it like he hadn't eaten in a few days. From the looks of him he probably hadn't had anything substantial in some time.

"Let's start small, I'm Aziraphale or Mr. Fell if you prefer," the unanswered questions in his head were finally getting to the principality.

"Ah-zirah-fell." the child sounded out, looking up from his empty bowl.

"That's right and your's?"

"Don't have one," he shrugged like it was perfectly normal. Aziraphale could feel concern clawing in the pit of his stomach. Maybe the boy was just confused.

"Well, what do people call you?"

"It or sometimes you," said the child after thinking it over for a moment. A shiver ran down Aziraphale, what horrible people wouldn't even name their own son. But he was interrupted before he could ask the obvious question.

"Where do you get a name?" the small voice asked. It never occurred to him that a name was something he should have.

"It's something that's given to you,"

"By who?"

"Well, usually by your parents. Like your mother, do you have a mother?" Aziraphale tried. The boy shook his head no.

"How about a father?" Another no.

"Can you give me name?" the child asked hopefully. He never realized it before but, he desperately wanted a name. It would be his, something just for him.

"I do-don't know If I'm qualified," a surprised Aziraphale stammered. He'd never named anyone before, it was an awfully important thing. What if he messed it up? But, the way that boy looked at him. He needed a name as much as he needed food.

"Barnaby, That's a respectable name!" the principality blurted out, it was the first name that popped into his head. He used to know lots of Barnabys, a few hundred years ago.

"Barn-a-by, Barnaby, Barnaby," the boy rolled the word over his tongue. Aziraphale blushed, what if he didn't like the name? Was it too old-fashioned?

"It's okay I can pick anoth-," He blurted out frantically. But a quiet voice interrupted him.

"I like it, it's fun to say. Barnaby," whispered the newly christened Barnaby. For the first time he had a light smile on his face. The little boy looked satisfied, like all was right with the world. Felling safe and warm, Barnaby's head began to droop and he let out a big yawn. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his body he began to realize how tired he really was. Aziraphale noticed this too, answers would simply have to wait until the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

"Come on, lets get you all cleaned up for bed," the angel gestured for the little boy on the sofa to get up and follow. Barnaby wanted to follow, he really did, he was just tired and sore. He couldn't seem to be able to make his legs work. So Aziraphale simply scooped him up oversized coat and all, and headed to the bathroom. Carefully, he set down the bundled boy on the edge of the tub.

The bathroom was a lot like the rest of the apartment, except less cluttered. Dainty soaps and shampoos with flowery names were placed next to the sink and bath, and matching fluffy towels were hung up on the wall. Barnaby sat patiently as he watched Aziraphale fiddle with the faucet. The angel wanted to make sure the temperature was perfect, nice and warm but not scalding. Once the temperature met his expectations Aziraphale stepped back and let the tub fill.

"I'm sure you know what to do from here," he said moving to give the boy some privacy. But Barnaby just gave Aziraphale a confused look, unsure of what his guardian wanted.

"You have taken a bath before, right?"

At that the child shook his head no. Then this would be a first for both of them. With a kind smile Aziraphale knelled down and unwrapped Barnaby from his coat. For the first time he could finally get a good look at the boy's wings. Even in the light it was hard to tell what color they were, dried mud and oil had matted the feathers together. Small fledgling feathers were also stuck into the mess, the kind that naturally fall out when the flight feathers grow in. His wings must have just matured. It must be uncomfortable being weighed down and stuck together like that.

"Okay, now you're going to have to trust me on this," Aziraphale said softly. He expected much more of a fight as he removed the dirty hospital gown but, Barnaby just sat there calmly letting himself be manipulated. Once he finally got the gown untangled, Aziraphale let out a pained gasp, not only could he see each of the boy's ribs, but bruises covered both his chest and arms. Some of them were fresh probably from tonight, other yellowing ones must have happened a while ago. He looked like a bony abstract painting and it broke Aziraphale's heart.

Surprisingly, there was no struggle as the principality lowered Barnaby into the warm water. The boy gave a tired smile at the warmth, and sloshed the water with his fingers. It was a new experience for him, put not exactly unpleasant. Aziraphale put some body wash in his hands and gently started to gently rub the filth from Barnaby's torso. Startled, the child jerked back splashing up soapy water.

"Hey, hey, I'm just getting rid of the dirt, okay," shushed Aziraphale. Barnaby relaxed and moved forward again but, still flinched whenever the angel touched a bruise. Finally the angel couldn't take it anymore. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale channeled healing energy into his fingers. It didn't take much for the ugly purple marks to fade away. Shocked, Barnaby's eyes almost fell out of their sockets, he let out a small gasp and traced the perfectly healthy skin with his finger.

"How?" he whispered looking up at Aziraphale. There was a new look of respect and reverence on his small face. All that pain and discomfort gone with a gentle touch.

"I'm an angel remember, I can do special things," the principality explained with a smile. That was enough for the boy, if Aziraphale said it, it must be true. Aziraphale moved carefully and slowly, washing away the grime and healing where needed to reveal olive skin. But the principality stopped horrified at the feet. How had he not noticed before? The soft bottom of the small feet were covered in deep gashes and scabs, some of them already turning green from infection. Barnaby must have been without shoes for some time.

Healing the gashes were harder than healing bruises. The damage was deep and infection was beginning to spread. By, the time he finished Aziraphale knew he was pushing it with the miracles. If he did any more heaven would start to notice. Now, what made Aziraphale nervous was trying to clean Barnaby's head. Soap had a bad tendency to sting when applied to the wrong places. But sure enough, he managed not to get any in the poor child's eyes. As Aziraphale ran in hands over the dark brown fuzz, he could see little swirls in the hairs that would one day grow into cowlicks. Barnaby's hair was shaved so short it was hard to tell it was there except for its softness to the touch. If he had a chance to grow his hair out a bit, Barnaby would actually be quite the handsome boy.

All that was left was the wings. They would need the most work, even after soaking in the warm water they were still matted and jumbled. Luckily, after years of experience and some advice from his favorite demon, Aziraphale knew the perfect solution for messy wings. It actually was horse shampoo, strong enough to lift deep-set oils yet still gentle on the skin and soft tissue. The angel rubbed two whole bottles of it into the mess of feathers. Black and brown muddied the tub more and more with every rinse along with stay baby feathers. Moving his hands carefully, Aziraphale straightened the feathers and untangled the excess down. The dirty white fluff floated on the top of the water like small strange snowflakes. The more Aziraphale groomed and straitened, the more filth washed into the water. And bit by bit the true color underneath was revealed.

Barnaby had the most beautiful wings any angel, demon, or anything in between had ever seen. The outer feathers were a vibrant russet outlined with a rich brown. Small flecks of a lighter more tawny brown specked the darker browns. On the inner side of the wings it was mostly a warm cream color with spots of varying browns mixed in. They were more compact and rounded than the average angel's or demon's wings, like that of a hawk. It was just so different from the pain black and white of the supernatural world, and Aziraphale couldn't help but stare.

"Aziraphale?" Barnaby's voice snapped the principality back to reality. The water was getting cold, and the staring was starting to unnerve the little boy.

"Oh, sorry," the angel quickly let out the water and wrapped Barnaby in the fluffiest towel he could find. Now that Aziraphale saw Barnaby completely, he looked more of seven to eight years old. But the angel was never good at guessing ages. Aziraphale once again lifted up Barnaby, and this time set him on the rarely used bed. The child looked as if he would fall asleep just like that, his head kept nodding asleep then bouncing back up.

"Just hold on for a little bit more, love. I need to find you something to wear," said Aziraphale moving to rummage through his dresser. All of his underwear were far too big, so Barnaby would just have to wear his old pair. Even with a belt any pair of Aziraphale's pants would fall right off. A shirt would work though, it would be more of a night gown, but that would be fine. Except most of the angel's shirts were the fancy button up kind, not very comfortable to sleep in. Aziraphale pulled out a baby blue sweater. It was one of his favorites, warm and soft. Barnaby's hands didn't make it out of the selves, and it almost went down to his knees. He pouted and struggled his wings against the sweater.

"It's crushing me," whined Barnaby. The child probably never had to cover his wings before. With a sigh Aziraphale removed the sweater and grabbed a pair of scissors, it was almost painful cutting long slits into the soft material. But Barnaby's face made it all better. He pushed his damp wings through the slits, and curled up in a bundle of feathers. He didn't really need blankets, but Aziraphale tucked him in anyway. And as the angel eased the door shut, Barnaby covered his nose with the sweater breathing in the relaxing scent.

***********************************************************************************************************************************

That night Aziraphale organized the entire book shop. He couldn't help himself, he just had to do something. Crowley was gone and who knew what those two men from the alley were up to. He had no one to talk to and there was no way he could leave Barnaby alone to go out and clear his head. So for the long hours of night and into the morning Aziraphale did anything to keep himself busy. It probably wasn't a good idea to open shop today, not that he had many customers anyway. As he made his way upstairs, Aziraphale could hear some rustling. He assumed Barnaby would sleep in, since they were up so late last night.

But the boy curiously explored the apartment, picking up unfamiliar objects to get a better look at them. He almost dropped a quite expensive vase as Aziraphale steeped into the living room. Sheepishly, he placed it back in the windowsill with a shrug.

"How about some breakfast?" Aziraphale offered to distract the child from any other breakable objects. It was kind of funny how fascinated Barnaby was by everyday things. Just the everyday act of cooking eggs had his full attention. He marveled at the 'magic' of liquid egg turned into solid. But it was obvious that Barnaby's favorite part was the eating. He ate slower than before, savoring the flavor.

"Barnaby, I want to talk to you about last night," Aziraphale spoke up. He just had to know, there were so many questions bouncing around his brain. Barnaby's face hardened into an expressionless mask.

"Why were those people after you?" the angel continued. The boy's gaze fell down to his plate.

"They wanted to take me back," he whispered.

"Where?"

"To where I was made," Barnaby shuddered at the thought. Instinctively his wings began to shield his small frame.

"You don't want to go back home?" the principality asked confused. The boy just shook his head with a haunted look in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

No matter how much Barnaby liked his sweater, he needed some proper clothes. It was obvious that the boy was done talking so they might as well get something done. Aziraphale would just have to figure out some other way to coax answers of out his small charge. The principality was lucky that his shop was in the historical district. There were plenty of little clothing boutiques and second-hand stores nearby. In fact, there was a small shop that specialized in children's wear only a few blocks away.

"Barnaby? We're going to go out for some supplies today, so I need you to tuck your wings in,"

The boy looked up at Aziraphale then back at his feathers. That was a strange request, he never needed to hide his wings before.

"Why?"

The principality crouched down so he was eye to eye with Barnaby and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Because you can't show anyone your wings under any circumstances. No one can know," he said forcing as much authority into his voice as possible, "People simply can't handle it and that makes them dangerous,"

Barnaby tried to grasp what Aziraphale was telling him, but it didn't make sense. How can just seeing his wings make people a threat? But the way Aziraphale said it meant it was important. This was no joke.

"Look, you don't want to go back right?" the angel tried again,"If anyone saw your wings, meaning to or not, they could alert those men after you and they would find you again,"

A cold shiver ran down Barnaby's spine, with a new understanding he pulled his wings into his gown-like sweater. If you looked closely you could still see russet feathers through the slits, but it would work for now. Grabbing his shoes and coat, Aziraphale made his way downstairs to lock up the shop. Excited, Barnaby bounded down the stairs after him and went straight toward the door bare feet and all.

Bruised and bleeding feet from last night flashed in Aziraphale's mind. Quickly he scooped the boy up before he could reach the sidewalk. "Without shoes you're not! I spent too much time healing those for you to cut them up all over again," scolded the angel as he shifted Barnaby to a more comfortable position. The boy pouted, not seeing the need. He felt just fine and didn't mind getting his feet a little dirty. But there was no point in arguing, Aziraphale wasn't going to budge.

They were a strange sight walking down the street that weekday morning, and more than one passerby gave them a second glance. The anachronistic angel always looked several hundred years out of place, which wasn't too strange by itself. But the half dressed child in his arms attracted a lot of looks. He seemed slightly past the age were it was acceptable to be held, but still young enough for it to be possible. Feeling uncomfortable Barnaby pressed his face into his guardian's shoulder .Few people were roaming the streets this Tuesday morning, but still Aziraphale quickened his pace. What he wouldn't give just to be driven there in the Bentley. Crowley would know what to do and how to help. He could always handle hard or strange situations. But for now the angel was on his own so he would have to manage.

By the time they made it to the little store, Barnaby was starting to get heavy. With a sigh of relief, Aziraphale set him down on the carpeted floor. Gabriel was right, maybe he was a little out of shape. A small snort came from the young lady at the counter.

"Having a bit of an emergency?" she chuckled, looking down at the barefooted boy in only an over-sized sweater.

"Well, I had an unexpected guest," heat started to rise in Aziraphale's cheeks. Taking Barnaby's hand he ushered him to the little boy's section. Underwear and socks were easy enough, Aziraphale grabbed a large pack of both. He opened the package of socks, having Barnaby put on a pair. Picking out pants were another thing though, there were so many different kinds, yet not enough differences for anyone to have much of an opinion on them. Jeans are popular with people nowadays right? Crowley had a pair or two that he wore often, so they must be. Except, Aziraphale had no idea what size Barnaby was. Finding a pair that seemed the right length, he made sure to grab both a size up and a size down.

Finding the right size for shits was easier than pants, but there were a lot more options and designs. Barnaby had never picked out anything before and didn't want to mess it up.  
A lot of the shirts had people or characters that he didn't recognize or strange sayings he couldn't read. Besides, he had no idea what normal people even wore. Looking around another rack, Barnaby came across the dress clothes. The long sleeve button up shirts reminded him of something Aziraphale would wear. Grinning he pulled down a pale yellow one.

"You should pick a few," suggested Aziraphale, holding out a white shirt with blue checkers. Barnaby froze eyes locked on the shirt. For a second he stood there, a cold terror keeping him in place. But it ended just as quickly as it began, Barnaby shook his head and went back to selecting new clothes. He enjoyed picking as much variety as possible, from a deep maroon to one with tiny ducks on them. Barnaby seemed to like everything except white, light blue, and especially any mix of the two. Sometimes when just touching a white shirt, his small hand would start to tremble.

"The changing rooms are over there if you need them," the lady who talked to them earlier pointed out. She was stocking the shorts looking kind of bored. It had been a slow day for her and this gentleman and his darling little boy were her first customers. Strange two, in her opinion.

The changing room was small, barely more than a closet with a mirror on the wall. But both of them managed to fit. The jeans were fine, they would just have to buy the smaller size. The shirts would be a problem though, simply too tight on the wings. When buttoned up they pressed tightly against them, leaving an recognizable bulge. Barnaby's discomfort was obvious by he didn't say anything. If staying hidden meant feeling crushed, he would just tough it out. But Aziraphale had a better idea.

"Wait here," he said stepping back into the store. The principality checked from rack to rack until he found the coats. Lots of them, big fluffy ones to smaller denim jackets. One for almost every occasion. A black rain jacket caught his eye. The kind with a hood, light and waterproof yet still warm. It was just what he needed. Next to it he also grabbed a gray knit hat, one with a fluffy white pom-pom on top. He wouldn't want Barnaby to catch a cold with such short hair.

"Hand me your shirt,"

Aziraphale pulled a pair of scissors out of his coat. He thought he might need them. Quickly, the angel cut slits into the back and handed it to Barnaby. Confused he slipped it on and pushed his wings through.

"Won't people see?"

"Not if you wear this over," smiled Aziraphale tossing the coat to Barnaby. It was perfect, loose enough to hide the folded appendages yet tight enough not to look strange. Barnaby looked just like any other little boy in London, maybe a little fancifully dressed but not noticeably. Like he came from a fancy dinner or some sort of dance. Remembering the hat, Aziraphale slipped it onto Barnaby's head. Now all the boy needed was a pair of shoes.

The shoe section was in the back corner of the store, it had a bunch of shelves stacked to the brim with rectangular boxes. Sometimes on top of the shelves there was a display showing off the small footwear inside. They seemed to have everything from flip-flops to high heels, in all sizes too. Barnaby wrinkled his nose at a pair of toddler sized fluffy boots and moved on to the next box. On top of not knowing what to pick, he didn't know what size he was. There were so many numbers that made no sense, like why was one bigger than thirteen?

"Do you need any help?" asked the young lady with a smile. She had been watching them struggle in the shoe department for awhile and decided to lend a hand. Barnaby gave a thankful nod putting back the box in his hands.

"Now, what size are you dear?" All she got back was a blank stare from both child and adult. Shaking her head, she went to grab the measuring machine. It was kind of funny how more often than not, her customers had no idea what size they needed. Bringing back the metal contraption, she got even more confused looks. Most parents forget their kid's shoe size, but the young lady rarely ran across one who wasn't familiar with the measuring. With a sigh she gestured the little boy to sit down on one the benches.

"Let's measure your foot then," she said moving to his right. She sweetly talked out the whole process while adjusting the contraption and taking measurements. It only took a few minutes and the boy sat there ever so politely. However, the older gentleman seemed fascinated by the foot measuring device, peering over her shoulder as she worked to get a better look at it.

"Okay buddy, you're a twelve and a half," the she announced, "Those should be over here,"

Now that he had a size, that narrowed down Barnaby's search by quite a bit. But he had never worn shoes before and had no idea what he liked. Some of them had complicated strings, or random holes for no apparent reason. Idly he pulled out a bright pink pair of 'sneakers' that had the designated 'twelve and a half' on the box. As they started flashing Barnaby quickly jumped back and shrieked. It was so unexpected that he dropped the box right in the middle of the walkway. The strange shoes blinked a few more times then went dark.

"What's wrong?" Aziraphale raced over with the lady on his heels. Barnaby was standing there eyeing the shoes suspiciously, when the shop owner broke out laughing.

"Oh honey, they're supposed to do that. See?" chuckling she picked up the shoes and clicked them together. Little lights in the sides turned on, flashing baby blue and purple. After a few seconds they turned off by themselves. Realizing they weren't a threat, Barnaby carefully took them back and gave them a shake himself. The fun little lights flickered on and started dancing almost magically. Barnaby liked these shoes.

"I choose these," he declared proudly. The shop lady had to stifle another laugh. She pulled out another box from the shelf, revealing the exact same shoe but in blue and green.

"How about this, you don't want girl's shoes do you?"

Barnaby violently shook his head, "No, I want these ones," He liked the bright color, it was so unlike anything else he wore before. The lady looked like she was about to object when Aziraphale interrupted.

"Then it's settled," he decided, picking up the empty box. Grinning, Barnaby slipped his new shoes on, tightening the Velcro straps. Every couple of steps as they headed to the checkout he would jump up to make the shoes light up and coincidentally cause the white pom-pom on his hat to bounce.


	5. Chapter 5

Aziraphale left the store holding their purchases in a white plastic bag. Unlike earlier, Barnaby and him were just another face in the crowd. None of the surprised double takes from this morning. Just a well-dressed man and his son out for a stroll. But Barnaby still seemed uncomfortable, lightly clutching Aziraphale's side. He eyed each passerby with suspicion like they would attack at any moment.

"Before we head back, I have a quick favor to do for a friend,"

Aziraphale did promise Crowley to check in on the flat. But it was too simply far to walk, so they would have to catch a bus. Since Aziraphale didn't know how to drive, he used public transportation often. It never bothered him sitting next to a complete stranger or taking a little bit longer to reach his destination. It was like a little adventure. Smiling courteously he handed his fare over to the usual driver. Barnaby instead kept his head down avoiding all eye contact. The lady at the shop seemed nice enough, but there were just so many new people that he didn't know what to think. Barnaby took a window seat cautiously watching London pass by. The strange little shops, bustling people, and the occasional tree blurred past. It didn't seem like a bad place to live, just busy. It would be nice to live somewhere quieter, he thought. Barnaby was content swinging his legs watching the new world pass him by, stopping occasionally to let off and on passengers.

He was a little disappointed when their stop came. They got out in front of an ordinary looking apartment building. It was pretty unremarkable, just a dull gray rectangle with some windows. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind, he just lead Barnaby up a few flights of stairs until they paused at the right door. The door itself was pretty average, but the doorbell wasn't. It sat in the middle of a little snake statue, the tiny head poised as if to bite when you rung the bell. Barnaby tapped the small metal head almost expecting it to spring to life. But it was simply a statue.

Aziraphale let them in with the spare key Crowley gave him. It was supposed to be for emergencies and such, or when the angel wanted to sneak him a gift. The flat was decorated minimally, just a few lavish looking pieces of furniture and the occasional painting on the wall. In all, it gave off an imposing feel like the flat itself was looking down at you. The one splash of life and color was the small garden of house plants. Verdant and luscious things with long waxy leaves and thick stems. Not a flower in sight though, just green leaves.

It was a little too close to home for Barnaby, the whole place made him feel anxious and jumpy. But Aziraphale just smiled and moved to the kitchen, sitting on a sterile counter was a cheap green plant mister. He filled it up with tap water and screwed on the cap.

"Here, this is for watering the foliage. Just squeeze the trigger and point where you want it to go," Aziraphale said pressing the bottle into Barnaby's hands. It was simple enough, just pull the trigger and a fine mist sprayed forth. Surprisingly, Barnaby actually found it relaxing washing over the plants one by one with the mist. He watched as tiny droplets clumped together and slid off the leaves into the potted dirt. Following behind him, Aziraphale would gently stroke the greenery whispering encouragement. The plants seemed to almost glow at the affection, perking up slightly.

It took some time to water the sheer amount of foliage. But they did a thorough and complete job. It was the beginning of the afternoon before they finished up. Neither of the two seemed to mind though.

"Can we water the plants again tomorrow?" asked Barnaby hopefully.

"That seems reasonable, I was going to anyway,"

The little boy grinned ear to ear. When they got back to the shop he would probably insist on watering Aziraphale's plants too. It felt nice caring for something besides himself, like he was finally in control of his life. Aziraphale could practically feel the joy radiating off him. Crowley would love Barnaby. He had always had a soft spot for kids, no matter how much he insisted the contrary, and a mutual love of plants couldn't hurt. A dark thought bubbled into the principality's mind.

"Barnaby," his voice changed to a serious tone. "If anything happens, if those men come back or we get separated, I want you to meet me here,"

The boy looked back at his guardian not quite understanding. "Why not the bookshop?" He liked the bookshop far better, it was much cozier and it just felt safe.

"It's safer here, more secret," Aziraphale tried to explain. If those men discovered him, it would be easy to trace them back to the shop. But this seemingly random apartment would be much harder to find. This same realization flashed on Barnaby's place.

"A hiding spot,"

"Exactly, now keep this with you," Aziraphale placed the spare key into the boys hand. Aziraphale could always miracle open the door if worse comes to worse. Understanding, Barnaby slipped it into this new pants.

"Now, how about some lunch? I know this splendid sushi place!"

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The sushi was splendid indeed. At first when they walked in they (or more specifically Barnaby) got a few distasteful looks. Sushi was never a popular food for children, it often produced upturned noses and loud complaining. But Barnaby was simply glad to have food, he had gone hungry too many times to be picky about it. Besides, the combination of fish and rice was generally pleasing.

Riding the bus back, Aziraphale was preoccupied. He wanted to help Barnaby, he really did, but he simply couldn't unless the boy talked to him. How could the angel keep him safe if he had no idea what he was up against. Barnaby seemed like he wanted to explain, he just got too tense and closed up. Whatever the memories were, they must have been painful. Only if Aziraphale could find a way to keep Barnaby calm and relaxed long enough to get some answers. Only if he could take a long flight and clear his head. That's always what he did in the good old days.

When they got back to the shop, they just headed right up to the apartment. Barnaby was about to settle down on the sofa when Aziraphale spoke up.

"I want to show you something, come on,"

Aziraphale lead him down the hall to what appeared to be a closet. But when he swung it open, a small staircase was revealed. It only had one direction. Up. They went higher and higher until reaching a rusty metal door. With a loud creak Aziraphale pushed it open with his shoulder. Outside was the open sky stretching off the flat roof. It was slightly cloudy today but not overbearingly cold, there was a slight breeze but not enough to upset one's flight pattern. The roof was just a barren square, broken up by a ventilation system. It wouldn't be too hard to leap over the alley to the neighboring shops. You could easily see the street but not the other way around.

Barnaby took in the view inching closer to the edge. It really was breathtaking. Just out of his eyesight, Aziraphale laid his coat down and materialized his wings. The stretched them out slightly allowing the wind to ruffle the soft down. He hadn't flown in a long time, thousands of years. Some days he missed it, the feeling of freedom and weightlessness. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Once he opened them he found Barnaby staring. The boy seemed less amazed as before, but there was still a wonder in those browns eyes as he looked upon the white feathers.

"Want to take a flight with me?" Aziraphale suggested. A small voice nagged in his brain that just because the child had wings didn't mean he knew how to use them. But Barnaby nodded and set his rain coat next to Aziraphale's. Stretching his smaller russet wings he gave the sky a nervous look. A larger hand took his.

As humans would say, it was like riding a bike, once you learn to fly it's something you never forget. Aziraphale quickly fell back into old habits and techniques as his wings picked up the breeze. It was obvious that Barnaby had little experience, he flapped his wings almost haphazardly or glided for too long almost falling out of the sky. He put too much energy into his turns making them choppy. It was like when a little kid tries to swim so they just randomly splash as hard as they can.

"Dip your right tip a little lower, love," Aziraphale said over the wind. Little by little he began to teach Barnaby the basics. When to glide, efficient turning, how to steady turbulence, the kind of stuff you learn as a young cherub. But Barnaby was a quick study, able to implement techniques just moments after learning them. Flying was a part of him as much as breathing, and soon it became just as easy. The two forms dived and swerved around each other like dancers in a duet, unseen by the people bellow. It all felt natural and right, this was what they were made to do.

As the sun started to sun, they finally returned to solid land. Aziraphale landed soft as a feather, but Barnaby needed some work. He came in too hard causing him to stumble, but he quickly recovered. The little pink shoes flashed brightly on impact with the roof. He just needed a little practice. Needing a breather they sat down right on the edge, legs dangling in front, wings stretched out in back.

"So, have you been flying before?" asked Aziraphale. A simple question to start with.

"Once," Barnaby breathed in the fresh air and turned his attention from the orange and red sky.

"When was that?"

"When I ran away,"

"From where you were made," Aziraphale remembered.

"They didn't know I could fly yet, but I felt it. So one day when they let me outside as usual, I flew away. They tried to stop me, but I just kept going. I was afraid to stop, that they would catch me, so I just kept flying. But I got so tired I crashed. So I just kind of wandered around, sleeping in ditches and avoiding people,"

"Why did you run away?" Aziraphale could hear his voice trembling. How many days had Barnaby just been wandering those streets cold and afraid?

"It hurt there,"

"How?"

"They hurt me," Barnaby shuddered. Dark memories surfaced of pain and darkness. The boy was barely aware that he was shaking, the world seemed to drift away leaving only the memories. Aziraphale couldn't stand it anymore, he pulled Barnaby into his lap. The angel rocked back and forth making soothing sounds, even though he was barely able to control his own anger.

"sshh...sssh...I won't let them take you back. I promise. You'll never go back there,"


	6. Chapter 6

After that moment on the roof, Barnaby felt like going to bed early. He was exhausted both mentally and physically, and just needed a break. A few hours escape from this world would do him some good. Aziraphale had offered to buy Barnaby a pair of pajamas at the store, but the boy had insisted that he was fine with the sweater. He liked the soft cashmere feel and the faint scent of Aziraphale's cologne. It was warm and safe like a small child's security blanket. But even with his blue comfort Barnaby fell felt uneasy. His small stomach twisted in knots, and shadows seemed to crawl forward from long shadows on the wall.

"Please don't go," he begged barely louder than a whisper. Aziraphale had his hand on the door, just about to leave the room.

"You want m-" Confused, Aziraphale looked back at the bed. Since he had little experience with children, a fear of the dark or even night-terrors were practically unheard of to the principality. But when he looked down at the small face, the fear and anxiety was easy to see. "Of course I can,"

The angel sat down next to Barnaby. Wordlessly, the small form shifted, resting his head on the Aziraphale's lap. The boy curled up in a cocoon of his own feathers and blankets, moving closer to his guardian's side. Aziraphale was first person Barnaby could actually say he felt safe with. With the others there had only been cruelty and cold detachment, the idea of such warmth and caring seemed seemed almost impossible to the young mind. Like all of this was a sweet dream that he would soon awake from. Now that Barnaby knew what he had missed for all those years, he was terrified of losing it again. That all his newfound joy and happiness would be ripped from his hands. He could feel hot tears welling up at the thought.

But those tears never fell. A gentle hand rubbed calming circles into the child's back. Aziraphale idly repeated the small motion, occasionally smoothing out the fluffy down of Barnaby's hawk-like wings. The soft touch almost instantly steadied the boy, muscles wound tightly relaxed back and his small hand released the death grip it had on the blankets. But even so, it was awhile before Barnaby finally gave into the lull of sleep.

Aziraphale didn't dare move. Barnaby was softly snoring on his lap and he could see the rhythmic rise and fall of the boy's chest. But Aziraphale couldn't join him. The angel was never a sleeper anyway, it always made him feel exposed and helpless. You couldn't defend yourself if you're unaware of the threat. He had no idea why Crowley liked it so much. Besides, he'd promised Barnaby that he would look after him no matter what. So, there Aziraphale sat in his silent vigil, looking out into the night.

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That morning they made sure to water Crowley's plants early. Barnaby was practically begging to go back and Aziraphale wanted to open the shop today anyway. It was a nice little trip and after they had a spot of had never paid much attention to A.Z Fell and Co. before, he usually just passed though. It wasn't like he could read the books anyway. But it did have a certain appeal, the whole place felt welcoming and calm. He pondered this as Aziraphale flipped the closed sign over to open.

"I'm opening the store for the rest of the day. You can help if you want,"

Barnaby rather liked running the store, it made him fell useful. Aziraphale showed him how to fix the backs of old book and exactly where they went on the large shelves. The books themselves had little interest to the boy, but they seemed to have a lot to Aziraphale. What made them so special Barnaby had no idea, but they must be for his guardian to like them so much. Busy doing little tasks where needed, he was surprised when the little bell above the door rung.

Barnaby's first instinct was to run when she walked in, but the calm manner Aziraphale had towards the stranger made him stay.

"Hello there Jane, school out already?"

"Gets out at 2:15 every day, remember,"

Jane was a strange girl, the tenth year student was always hanging around old shops after school, and Aziraphale's was her favorite. Most of his regulars were elderly folks with nothing better to do, so it was always a bit odd. The angel didn't know why but she never seemed to want to go home. Jane was a nice girl though, always reading something. He had already lent her his Victor Hugo collection twice and each time they were returned in perfect condition. Jane never bought anything, just browsed or sometimes sat and read in the corner.

"Who's this?" she asked finally noticing Barnaby. He was standing in one of the isles not entirely sure of what to make of the teenager.

"My nephew, Barnaby. He's staying with me for a bit,"

"Hi Barnaby," she smiled, bending down so they were eye to eye. Not knowing what to do he just gave a small wave in return. Lucky for Barnaby, the ringing of Jane's phone interrupted any more awkwardness. She brought it up to her ear and filched a little. It wasn't' much of a conversation from this end, just a few weary conformations and an I'm sorry. After a few minutes Jane hung up and turned to Aziraphale.

"I have to go Mr. Fell, my parents want me home," she grumbled. Seeming a little disheartened, the teenager left almost as quickly as she arrived. Just another one of Aziraphale's strange customers. Plenty of other strange characters stopped in the store that day. Like Mrs. Greene who swore her cats could talk, or Mr. Blackman who thought it was still 1987. But no matter how quirky, Aziraphale treated each one patiently and with respect. He would calmly answer any question, or ask Barnaby to grab a book for them. And that was why they always came back, not for the books or the prices, but for the genuine kindness.

The day was coming to a close, a customer hadn't come in some time and there wasn't much to do. Barnaby was sitting behind the front desk flipping through a comic book he found in his shoe box. He couldn't read the words, but it was fun to try and guess what was happening in the colorful pictures. A hot pink heroine was fighting a knotted shoelace monster for some reason. Barnaby just couldn't seem to figure out why. Above him Aziraphale sat quietly working on the shop records, marking down purchases and general expenses.

The little bell interrupted the silence with a chime. Barnaby tried to jump up to greet the newcomer but a strong hand held him down. Confused the boy looked up at his guardian, but Aziraphale's eyes were locked on the well-built stranger. He had flaming red hair and sauntered in like a shark who caught the scent of fresh blood. Except what really unnerved the angel were the eyes, they had a cold hatred deep-set within them the kind that grows over long hard years. The same eyes that blazed at the angel from behind the muzzle of a handgun that night. But Aziraphale refused to show any fear.

"Can I help you with anything, sir?" he asked forcing a smile. The man looked him up and down but showed no recognition.

"I wanted to ask some questions about two nights ago," the stranger growled with a slight Irish accent. Barnaby stiffened just out of sight.

"Sorry I was out of town on Monday, why?" If this stranger didn't remember him it would be best to keep it that way, thought Aziraphale.

"A boy went missing from the local mental hospital and we think he went this way, " an obvious lie.

"No children to be found around here, no sir,"

"I wanted to come in yesterday but you were closed. Why was that?"

"I was felling a bit under the weather, so I never opened shop. I guess everyone has those days," Aziraphale could feel his heart trying to escape his chest.

The man narrowed his eyes Aziraphale then handed him a slip of paper. A barely legible phone number was scribbled on it in blue ink.

"Call me if you see anything," he ordered more than asked. Taking one final look the red-head turned to leave.

"And to what name should I ask for?" an Idea popped into Aziraphale's head.

"Cain," The Irishman answered without looking back. Cain headed outside and straight into the shop next door, leaving a tense air in his wake. That name wouldn't help much, even if it was real. Without a last name it would be impossible to dig up anything form records. Aziraphale felt Barnaby shaking under his hand. The boy looked up at the angel with wide eyes.

"Did he see me?" Barnaby asked voice quivering.

"No and don't worry, I don't think he remembered me either," Aziraphale gathered Barnaby in his arms and quickly headed up to the apartment. He couldn't risk Cain walking past again and seeing Barnaby. The boy was still shaking and turning paler by the second, his heart beating out of control.

"Don't worry he won't come back, he doesn't even know you're here," Aziraphale tried. But Barnaby didn't seem to be listening, the child was starting to hyperventilate. Pulling him into his lap Aziraphale rocked him back and forth. Barnaby barley registered the action. They had finally found him and were coming to take him away, he was sure of it and it terrified him. A long time passed before he started to calm down. Pure fear slipped away along with his panic attack, and he began to remember where he was. He was safe in the cozy little apartment with Aziraphale. It was going be okay.

"Would you like some coca, dear?" Aziraphale offered. In his experience a warm drink was the best remedy for someone in shock. The angel pulled himself off the couch but stopped a the window. A black van had pulled up to of the shop and another wasn't far behind. The back door of the first van opened and half a dozen men piled out, Cain included. A panic began to rise in the angel's chest. He dashed back to the sofa and grabbed Barnaby's hand.

"You have to go," He ordered practically dragging he boy down the hall.

"Why?" choked Barnaby. But there was no need to answer, bellow them the front door was slammed open and the sound of boots shook the floor.

"Go to the flat and wait for me there,"

"But what about you?" The stomping of boots were coming up the stairs now.

"I'll meet you there, just go!" Aziraphale pushed the boy toward the door to the roof and turned back. Barnaby took the steps two at a time, everything in him screaming to go back and help Aziraphale. But he trusted the principality and if he was told to leave, he had to listen. The metal door was heavy and Barnaby had to use all his weight to crack it open. But he manged and found himself on the dark roof. It was a cloudy night and the rain beginning to fall. The wind whipped his hair and would be difficult for even an experienced flier. Even so he stripped off his raincoat and held it in his hands, spreading out his wings to their fullness.

The metal door slammed open behind him revealing Cain. The Irishman lunged at Barnaby aiming for his russet wings. But the boy was already in the air, barely escaping the strong hands. Taking like a fish to water he entered the storm. Bellow, Cain lashed out his hands toward the figure just out of reach, screaming his frustrations like a caged animal. But the angered cry never reached Barnaby's ears. He was too deep in the maelstrom, just trying to keep the wind under his wings.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley was exhausted, two days straight of making up to Beelzebub would suck the life out of anyone. All the demon wanted to do that early morning was take a cold shower. Dear Satan he reeked of sulfur and brimstone. Crowley always hated his trips down to hell, the unbearable closeness and the constant struggle for power. Like why couldn't they just give him some God-blessed space. The demon hissed at the rising sun through his shades as he entered the apartment building. At least he got done a day early, only if it was a little darker out. A massive head-ache was pounding in his skull squishing his brain into putty. Napping for a few hours sounded nice too, he would visit Aziraphale later. Let his angel enjoy the quiet for a little longer.

Not bothering to get out his key, Crowley miracled it open with a snap. His flat was the same as always, cold and almost completely barren. He noted with a small sense of delight that his plants seemed to be well watered. Quickly the demon's head popped up, the distinct sound of footsteps were coming from the other side of the flat. Someone else was here. The footsteps were running now, and Crowley tensed up prepared for a fight. Whoever broke in was going to regret it. But to his surprise a young boy bolted around the corner looking looking relived. The child stopped dead in his tracks almost toppling over upon seeing the lanky demon. The look of relief and joy was instantly replaced with fear and apprehension.

Crowley was ready to tear this small trespasser a new one. All he wanted was to fall in bed, not deal with whatever this was. Couldn't kids find other trouble to get into besides his? Fury was building up in his stomach, and he was starting to condenser miracling this little brat to Taiwan. Then Crowley stopped right in his tracks, something was wrong. Part of being a demon is being able to sense fear, and sure any kid would be terrified in this situation and had the right to be, but this wasn't normal. The fear radiating off the boy wasn't the average got-caught-going-to-get-in-trouble-with-mom, it was more desperate and real. More like a man held at gunpoint then a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, and behind that initial fear, Crowley could feel a nagging worry focused on someone else.

The demon took a step-back, swallowing his rage. The boy seemed a little older than seven, a little on the small side for his age. He had olive skin and a small amount of short-cut hair much the same color as the demon's could be seen from under a beanie. Crowley noted with some amusement the pink light-up sneakers. His clothes and rain jacket were damp, dark circles ringed his brown eyes as if he didn't sleep last night. The poor kid was defiantly in more trouble than a simple prank gone wrong.

"Who a-are you?" the boy asked voice quivering. He took a weary step back looking at the demon suspiciously, almost as if Crowley was the intruder.

"I'm Crowley and this is my flat! I'm the one asking questions here," he growled. Crowley hadn't meant to be that harsh but he was still felt like sinking back into his bed. The demon had a sinking felling that wasn't an option anymore.

"So why are you here?" Crowley sighed. There was no point in scaring the boy too much. The demon relaxed his body and ran a hand through his hair.

"Az-Mr. Fell told me to wait here for him but he never came," the boy began to tear up, fishing out a key from his pocket. It was the spare Crowley had made for Aziraphale in case of emergencies. Worry began to creep into the demon's mind. Maybe there was a perfectly harmless explanation.

"Why would he tell you that?" he asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.

"The bad men broke into the bookshop and were coming for u-" the kid rapidly explained through tears. He never got a chance to finish, Crowley was already out the door. The demon's feet barely touched the stairs as he leaped down them with inhuman speed. By the time he reached the parking lot, the Bentley had started its own engine. Practically diving into the driver's seat, Crowley set off like a bat out of hell (or a snake out of hell to be more precise).

It had only been two days. He had thought Aziraphale would be fine on his own for such a short amount of time. The angel had always had a knack for finding trouble but this truly had to be a record. Crowley cast a sideways glance at his cell. He should call, find out for sure. But the demon couldn't make himself do it. It would be just like when the bookshop burnt down and he thought he lost his best friend for good. Crowley willed the car to go faster, he may have failed Aziraphale that day but never again will he let anything happen to his angel.

He'd almost reached Soho when Crowley realized that he actually had no idea who he was up against. It couldn't have been his lot could it? Sure Hastur still had it out for him, but this wasn't his style. Hastur was always more direct in his bastardness. The angels maybe, they hadn't made even a peep since the ArmaGetItOn. A cold shiver ran down Crowley's spine. All those years from the way Aziraphale talked of them, he had thought the other angels were kind and friendly. But the way they looked down on Aziraphale with such disdain, like he was beneath them. All the little things they did to intimidate the principality like bullies on a school yard. Before, Crowley had always had a dislike for the ethereal beings but now it was different, it was personal.

The demon double parked haphazardly. He strode to the front door with anger and purpose, only to find it ajar. The lock had been smashed and the deadbolt too, the door itself hung loosely on its hinges. Crowley pushed it open easily ,stepping into the trashed shop. Bookshelves had been knocked over strewing priceless books all over the floor, one of the potted plants had been smashed and dirt had been spread by a small army of feet. Far too many footprints for just a few men, a dozen was more like it.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley yelled in vain. He already knew there would be no answer, Aziraphale was gone. Panic was rising in Crowley's throat, he dashed towards the stairs. The angels knew, they had discovered the switch and wanted Aziraphale gone for good. Oh God, he could be burning in hellfire right now. But as he climbed the first stair, Crowley's finger caught on the wood banister, a long sliver lodged itself into the demon. Hissing in pain, he swirled around to look at the offending cedar, then sucked in his breath in surprise. A bullet was lodged in the wood creating a spiky crater around the impact. Angels didn't use guns, neither did demons, only humans used the clever contraptions.

Crowley almost felt relived, humans couldn't kill an angel only discorporate them. But his stomach still rolled at the thought. Who would have such a grudge against his angel anyway? He was so sickeningly nice and impossibly naive, he couldn't even steal a pen from the bank without breaking down crying. It defiantly couldn't have been a gang, Crowley had made sure none of them were even close to this street decades ago. There was the occasional rich man upset at Aziraphale's unwillingness to sell, but they had never been a problem before.

The apartment on the second floor was much of the same as the store. Furniture was overturned and personal items littered the floor, the whole place had been turned upside down. But as he entered the living room the signs of struggle were obvious, the middle of the room had been cleared of debris, kicked away during the brawl. Bending down Crowley inspected a dark stain. Dried blood, not enough to be harmful but it pooled into a sizable puddle. Please let it be one of the attacker's. But what caught his eye next not even he could deny.

"Oh Aziraphale what did you do?" A large white feather laid to the side of the room, almost innocently. Crowley's hands shook uncontrollably as he gathered it up. It was a primary feather, one of an angel's largest. Unlike down, they simply weren't meant to come out easily. And he knew from personal experience how much it burned when ripped out. Like tearing out a fingernail, a really big fingernail. Crowley had no idea who did this but what he did know was that he was going to tear them apart.


	8. Chapter 8

Crowley searched the building up and down but found no sign of a discorporated body. They could always have disposed of it somewhere else, but Crowley's experience with these kinds of things was that if criminals left an obvious crime scene they rarely bothered to hide a body. There was a chance. Especially after last time, who knew how many years or if all it would take Aziraphale to get a new body and return to earth if he was discorprated. But if he was taken, there was still a chance Crowley could find him. Either way the demon would track those men to the ends of the earth.

Something small caught Crowley's attention in the mess. Bending down he swiped a piece of down from the floor. It couldn't be Aziraphale's, this was a rusty brown not an angel's demon rubbed it between in fingers and frowned, it was large for a bird's. An eagle's perhaps? Except there were few of them in such a populated area, much less in old-fashioned bookshops. Looking down the demon realized he was standing on a plastic bag. He moved his foot and shoved it away only a small shirt to fall out. It was a kid's shirt, dark blue covered in tiny rubber ducks. Flipping it over, Crowley examined two long slits cut into the back. Too neat and regular to be accidents. The demon really should have put it together then but he was so tired and worried that Crowley simply couldn't connect the dots between the feather, slits, and child.

Remembering the boy, Crowley's head shot up. He forgot the kid. The boy was there when it happened, he should know what the hell was going on. Grabbing the bag and stuffing the shirt in, Crowley strode down the steps, making sure to nab Aziraphale's severed primary. It could still be reattached with a simple miracle, a lot easier than growing or making a whole new one. As Crowley drove back in a slightly less frenzied state another question popped into his head. If he was taken why didn't his angel simply miracle himself to safety? Sure Aziraphale had been squeamish with such miracles in the past but, this was an emergency for crying out loud! He wouldn't hold back now, would he?

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When Crowley got back to the flat, the boy was sitting in the demon's chair with his knees to his chest. He looked like he was fighting sleep with his head nodding down and up again, but he still ran to the door the second it opened. Looking up at Crowley he didn't seem scared of the demon anymore just apprehensive.

"Is he okay?" the kid asked hopefully. The demon was almost taken back, this child was actually worried about Aziraphale.

"He's uh...Aziraphale's gone," for once in his very long life Crowley didn't know what to say. Even so, a look of pure shock flashed upon the small face. Small hands and legs began shaking and his brown eyes grew larger. It looked to Crowley like his young life had been torn apart, Aziraphale must really mean something to him. The poor thing was practically having a meltdown, not like Crowley wasn't considering having one himself. A memory surfaced in the demon's mind, when Warlock was young and his cat ran away his face looked exactly like this boy's did now.

"Hey, hey, hey," the demon whispered crouching down and placing a firm hand on the kid's shoulder. Just enough pressure to get his attention and distract him from his panic. Sure enough the brown eyes locked onto his shades. "It's okay, I'm going to fix this. Now how about you tell me how you know Aziraphale?"

The kid looked like he wanted to respond but wasn't sure if he should.

"Aziraphale wouldn't send you here if he didn't trust me, would he?" Crowley reasoned, "So, how do you know him?"

After thinking it over a moment the boy answered, "He saved me,"

That sounded like Aziraphale, he was always sticking his neck out for other people. Must be an angel thing. Crowley had lost count of how many times he saved the principality from his own good deeds other the centuries.

"From what?"

"Bad people,"

"The ones who attacked the shop," finished Crowley. The kid nodded and looked down at his shoes. It made sense now, Aziraphale must have really pissed those men off when he got in their way. Now they had come back for revenge, wanted to make an example. Not wanting some soft bookshop owner from Soho to muddy their reputation. But still Crowley didn't have a single clue on who was responsible for this.

"Tell me everything about them," Crowley lifted the boy's chin until they were eye to eye again.

"Cain, it was Cain. He found us," said the child. Damn, Cain was obviously an alias, impossible to track by itself. Crowley needed more, something to attach to the name.

"Who's Cain?"

"He was after me, wanted to take me away,"

"Do you know why or at least who he was with?" Crowley tried. He had nothing to go off of except a cryptic name and desperately needed information. A strange expression flashed across the boy's face quickly replaced by a shake of his head. Of course he had no idea.

"Anything at all, I just need to figure out who took him," the demon was practically begging now and the boy could tell. He looked like he wanted to help, but just didn't know how. Suddenly the boy pushed off Crowley's hand and rushed over to the plastic bag left by the door. The demon had brought it with him from Aziraphale's apartment, not sure of what to do with the small clothing. Rummaging through it, the kid pulled a flimsy looking hospital gown from the bottom. It was stained past repair with filth and torn at the bottom, not good enough for anything but the landfill. Even so the boy brought it up to Crowley with a sense of urgency.

"Wha.." the demon looked down confused, taking the thin fabric into his hands. But then his eyes flashed to the upper-right corner of the stained white. At first he thought it was just another stain, but it was far too uniform for that. Looking closer Crowley could see a logo printed right onto the gown, it almost looked a flipped over C with a box in the middle. He didn't recognize the brand but perhaps someone else would. If it was an organization that took his angel there was no easy way they could hide. There was always a money trail with them.

"Brilliant!" the demon jumped up and ruffled the kid's hat. It was just the break he needed, with a little help from a friend he would finally have a real lead. A tentative smile from the boy next to him reminded Crowley of the other problem at hand.

"Come on, I'll take you home to your parents," the child must have been reported missing by now. The sooner he got him home, the sooner he could go find his angel.

"But I don't have any parents," insisted the boy sounding confused. Of course Aziraphale would take in a stray. Damn, Crowley could always ditch him at the police station or something, but he would never hear the end of it. Aziraphale would hold it against him for decades, saying that he was being negligent or something. If he ever came back. Another idea popped into the demon's mind, he was going there anyway.

"Then I guess you'll have to come with me then," Crowley placed the hospital gown back into the plastic bag, moving towards the door. The kid went to follow, he didn't completely trust this man but there wasn't many other options. If Aziraphale trusted him, then he would just have to too.

"I never caught your name," the demon realized stepping into the hall. He was so concentrated on finding answers Crowley never bothered with the basic exchange.

"Barnaby,"

"What kind of name is that?" snorted Crowley. Seriously who named their son Barnaby in the twenty-first century?

"I like it, Aziraphale gave it to me," defended Barnaby. That surprised the demon, even if he didn't have parents now, Barnaby must have at some point. How could he have gone so long without a name that his angel had to give him one? But like most things, Crowley masked his concern with humor.

"Well Bart, I'm not calling you that,"

"But my name's Barnaby!" the boy pouted. He took it back, he didn't like this man at all. Crowley lead the way to the parking lot out front and opened the Bentley's passenger side door dramatically.

"You'll thank me when you're older," the demon smirked.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a quiet car ride. Even with the jostling of the road Barnaby still manged to fall asleep, curled up on the passenger seat resting his head on the window. The past few hours were finally catching up to him, and even though he was hurtling down the road with a man he barely knew, Barnaby felt strangely safe. Crowley also found himself driving slower(still far over the speed limit), and for once left the radio off. The boy needed some rest, he looked like he had been up for some time. Barnaby seemed like a good kid, quiet and cautious but Crowley could sense a certain stubbornness within him. It's was a shame he had to leave him behind, the demon was starting to like the boy. But he had to find Aziraphale, that was his first priority.

Crowley didn't mind the silence as he pulled off the M25. It gave him a chance to think, to plot. Of course, he couldn't plot much without knowing who he was up against, but it was comforting. Despite what he wanted others to think, he wasn't that powerful of a demon. Crowley always had to rely on his imagination and quick thinking to stay ahead, sometimes it scared him. In an fair fight with Hastur or pretty much any other supernatural being he would be creamed, only a nuisance. So, he relied on clever tricks and his silver tongue, but that might not be enough anymore. What if he wasn't strong enough to protect what he loved anymore?

Shaking his head, the demon pushed the thoughts away. He had other things to focus on, like facts. What did he know? Crowley ran this morning over and over again in his head trying to fit it together. Aziraphale stooped whoever Cain was from kidnapping Barnaby sometime while he was in hell. Cain who must have been affiliated with an gang or other organization, retaliated last night by kidnapping his best friend. Barnaby somehow got away and hid in his flat. It sounded simple, an open and shut case. But something about it was nagging at him, it felt like he was missing a piece of a puzzle. Just barely unable to see the whole picture. Hissing in frustration, Crowley turned onto a small country road.

***********************************************************************************************************************

"But how would you know you hit a vampire?" asked Brian.

"You would feel the bump under your car, duh!" Pepper argued.

"But when you looked in the rear-view mirror there would be nothing, you would never know," pointed out Wensleydale.

"If you stopped and got outside you'd see it," Adam said.

"if you stopped!"

The Them had been fighting in Anathema's kitchen for the past ten minutes and the witch was starting to get tired of it. Sure they were defiantly cute at times, but not now. Besides no self-respecting vampire would be out on a road in the first place, a ghoul maybe. They never had been intelligent creatures. But this wasn't about a ghoul, it was about vampires and the petty argument was really starting to get irritating.

"Kids, how about you play outside? Maybe check the ditches for vampires or something," she sighed holding back a smile. The four looked at each other for a second, then Adam gave a nod. Even with all the pointless bickering Anathema loved being the children's new 'aunt'.

"Okay, we must test our hypothesis!" The Them were almost out the door before the witch realized her mistake. Anathema rapidly set down the mixing bowl and rushed after them.

"Hold on! You four better stay out of the roads!" she warned, remembering a particularity painful run-in with a 1926 Bentley. The kids didn't seem to be listening, instead they grabbed their bikes and pedaled off chattering. "Hey, I mean it!"

This time Adam looked back and gave Anathema a reassuring smile. It was easy to forget he was the Antichrist, son of Satan, prince of darkness. He was the nicest kid in town except for some childish trouble making, that he always made up for. Even with supernatural powers he was the most kind-hearted incoming sixth grader to be found. And there was no way he would let his best friends get hit by a bus. Feeling relived, Anathema headed back to check on her cookies.

"What was that about?" Newton asked sticking his finger into the dough. Her boyfriend had moved in not long after the Armagedon't, taking up a job in the local post office.

"Apparently, if you ran over a vampire you would have no idea because you couldn't see him in the rear-view mirror," Anathema chuckled taking the mixing bowl away. These past few weeks had been the happiest of her life. Not having to worry about some world saving prophesy, just watching the strangest eleven-year-olds in the UK, and spending time with her boyfriend.

"That's stupid, there's no such thing as vampires. Is there?"

"Oh honey, of course there are,"

A baffled Newton was about to ask a million questions when the front door slammed open.

"Crowley and Aziraphale are here! I saw the Bentley driving past Brian's house," Adam grinned. The children loved the supernatural pair. And since they met the two had tried to visit as often as possible. And to the kids they were superstars, the Them practically worshiped the ground they walked on. Loving the poorly done magic shows just as much as racing around town at dangerous speeds. They constantly pestered the immortals about everything from the Titanic to if kicking puppies was a sin. And all four of them would sit for hours asking for story after story of earth's long history. What Anathema found the most endearing though, was how the duo enjoyed hanging out almost as much as the kids, she could always see both their auras turn bright pink with delight every time one ran up excitedly.

Anathema held back a grin as a familiar crunch of gravel began to make its way up the driveway. The Them were back already, practically rushing the vintage car, waving at the driver. When it stopped Crowley gave the children a grin that didn't quite reach his ears. His aura was darker than usual today, streaked with dark blues and the occasional flaming red. As he got out of the driver's seat Anathema knew something was really upsetting him. The demon hid it well though, smiling and answering the little one's questions like nothing was wrong. With the opening of the passenger side door a young boy hopped out rubbing his eyes surprising them all. A sudden wave of silence cut through the excited chatter, only to explode with questions.

"You have a son!"

"Who's this?"

"What's with the shoes?"

"Did they send another Antichrist?"

Barnaby almost ducked back into the car. He hadn't met another kid before, much less four at once. They seemed awfully loud, crowding around him jumping from foot to foot. It was overwhelming being the center of such laser focused attention. Backing against Crowley's legs, Barnaby looked with pleading eyes.

"Give him some space you rascals," the demon came to his defense. With sheepish grins the Them backed up to a more reasonable distance, still staring like owls. For a moment they just gave each other odd looks before the dark-skinned girl stepped forward.

"Come on guys, you're scaring him!" she growled, then turned to Barnaby, "Sorry, I'm Pepper and those dorks over there are Adam, Brian, and Wensleydale,"

"Hello," the boy replied taking a few steps away from Crowley's lanky legs. These strangers didn't seem too bad, just excited. Maybe all kids were that way.

Still standing on the porch Anathema watched the interaction curiously. Where the hell did her favorite demon find a child? But something else bothered her more. Something was missing, it was right on the tip of her tongue. Everything about this seemed off and out of place. And the witch wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Wait! Where's Aziraphale?" Adam cut to the heart of the problem. The two supernatural beings always came together, practically inseparable. But the angel was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in the car, and Adam would defiantly notice him getting out. This must have struck a nerve because for a few seconds the demon's smile disappeared, replaced with worn-out worry.

"Adam, I need to have an adult conversation with Anathema. So, how about you all go cause some trouble," Crowley said rebrandishing his forced smile. Adam saw right through the facade but knew better than to argue. Whatever it was, the demon didn't want them in it.

"We can baby sit for you!" offered Brian, "My little sister is about his age,"

Pepper and Wensleydale nodded eagerly, they wanted to know more about this new boy. And besides adult conversations were supposed to be for adults only.

"Not this time, Bart here has to talk to Anathema too,"

"Barnaby,"

The Them watched curiously as Crowley fetched a plastic bag from the back seat and headed inside with the boy in tow. As he walked past, Anathema gave the demon a concerned look and exchanged a few whispered words before closing the door behind her. All was left was four confused eleven-year-olds standing in the yard. They just stared in silence for a few moments until Pepper spoke up.

"What was that about?" she griped.

"I still think they sent another Antichrist, to replace Adam," Wensleydale decided.

"But he doesn't seem like the son of Satan, he's too quiet. Abby never stops talking," said Brian.

"Well no one thought Adam was the son of Satan until he started flying!"

"Let's find go find out then. I bet if we sit under the windowsill we could snoop in on the conversation," Pepper suggested. They had done it before, it wasn't that hard.

"No way, that's rude. Besides, I don't want to be grounded the last week of summer break," said Adam. If Crowley wanted to keep this a secret, then it should stay that way. The demon would tell them when he was ready, Adam was sure of it. With mumbled half-hearted agreements the Them set off again in their original hunt for vampires. Who knew, maybe Crowley hit a few on the way here.


	10. Chapter 10

"What's going on, Crowley?" Anathema could barely contain her concern, "And who's this?" The witch eyed the boy now standing in her house. He was younger than the Them, probably less than nine. But his aura was not of someone his age. It had slowly healing cracks' webbing all throughout its pulsing light. Deep emotional scars, that Anathema had only seen a few times on a couple war vets she knew back in America. But this boy didn't seem broken like the others, she could feel a certain resilience in him. His aura didn't have a bright yellow haze of fear, just flashes of nervousness as he looked around with curiosity was mostly pastels of hope and well meaning, like that of a very small child who didn't quite know the world. Weary but still believing in the goodness of others.

Barnaby looked up and noticed the witch watching him. His mind flashed back to Pepper and the elderly people at the bookshop. Barnaby thought of the kind way they talked to him, especially when he was feeling shy. Reaching a decision, he outstretched his small hand.

"Hello, my name is Barnaby," That's what you were supposed to do right? Most people he had met introduced themselves like that and Aziraphale had told him shaking hands was the proper way to greet a stranger. Said it was respectful or something.

"I'm Anathema Device, nice to meet you," the witch melted into a smile and took his hand. What a sweet boy, she thought. Her heart twinged at the thought of all those spidering cracks and the deep hurt underneath. Anathema wasn't sure she even wanted to know what caused such pain, or why he was driving around the country with a demon.

Looking up at the said demon she wordlessly asked again, what's wrong. Crowley's face had dropped the fake smile, concern and turmoil were easy to read on his tense expression. Behind shaded eyes he stepped closer to the witch.

"I need your help," Crowley admitted. He opened his mouth to explain, but a high-pitched beeping from the kitchen cut him off.

"Newt, can you get that," Anathema called feeling annoyed. The cookies could wait, apparently Crowley needed help. But the only response form across the house was a muffled yelp and something crashing to the ground.

"Really Newton, it's just an oven!" she growled. Her poor boyfriend had dropped the entire bowl of dough that was being mixed for the next batch, it covered almost the entire floor. And on top of that, the cookies were still in the oven. Anathema swiped the mitts off the counter, stepped over the sticky mess, and quickly pulled the cookie sheet from the oven. They were blackened around the outside but still salvageable.

"Sorry babe," Newton was quickly turning red.

"It's fine honey," Anathema sighed placing a peck on his cheek, "But you better get this cleaned up,"

Looking relived he moved to grab some paper towels, "Oh, hey Crowley,"

"Newt,"

The clumsy computer engineer quickly got to work on the mess and Anathema settled the baked goods on a plate. Hopping up on a stool, Barnaby glanced longingly at the pleasant smelling cookies. He hadn't realized how hungry he was in all the chaos of the day. And now that he thought about it, he hadn't eaten at all since he'd lost Aziraphale.

"It's okay, take one," offered Anathema. With a shrug she grabbed a cookie for herself and took a bite. Ulgh, defiantly overcooked. "I'll get you some milk," Making her way to the fridge she poured two glasses. But when she turned around, the witch found that Barnaby had already ate his cookie.

"That was fast," a realization popped into her head, "Wait, have you had lunch yet?" The boy shook his head no.

Anathema fixed a fiery gaze on the demon standing across the room, "Crowley! It's almost three o'clock!" He adverted the glare by inspecting his shoes. The demon had forgotten the basic human need for food in his rush. Anathema gave an exasperated sigh and opened the cupboards. She would just have to find something for the boy. Crowley could just be so clueless sometimes.

*****************************************************************************************************************

Soon enough, Barnaby was settled at the kitchen table with a sandwich. Seeing that he was content, Anathema gestured Crowley and Newton into the living room, out of earshot.

"Now, can you finally tell me what's wrong?"

Almost relived Crowley nodded, "Someone took Aziraphale," He could feel the heat rising in his chest as he told them everything he knew. Making sure to leave nothing out, from finding Barnaby in his flat to the frantic search of the bookshop. Because, if he missed something maybe they wouldn't. As he explained Anathema looked practically livid, like she wanted to jump up and punch something. To fight against this injustice. Newton on the other hand was a mixture of concerned, scared, confused, and just wanting to cry. Aziraphale was one of the kindest, most gentle men they knew, why anyone would even think of hurting him was beyond the witch-finder.

"Wh-who would even do that?" he stammered.

"And this Cain, was also after Barnaby?" Anathema found herself glancing through the door at the small form still in the kitchen.

"At first, but I'm not sure anymore," Crowley figured Barnaby must just be some child on the streets, the attackers probably didn't see him as much of a threat compared to Aziraphale.

"Poor little guy, what's going to happen to him?" asked Newton.

"I was thinking he could lay low here for a few days, until I find Aziraphale,"

"And when you do?"

"I don't know,"

"Well, until then I can set up the guest room," decided Anathema, "Now, what about that symbol,"

Crowley reached down for the bag, only to realize he must have left it on the counter, "It's in the kitchen,"

Barnaby looked up and gave a small smile as the three adults walked back in. They seemed nice, not at nice as Aziraphale, but still nice. Crowley grabbed the plastic bag and pulled out the gown on top. Curious, Barnaby hopped off the stool and walked over. He watched as Anathema and Newton passed it back and forth discussing quietly the icon on the corner. It was the symbol of Barnaby's life. As long as he could remember it was everywhere, clothes, clipboards, walls, mugs, almost everything. He just kind of thought that was how the world was, it was a small shock to Barnaby when he didn't see it anywhere with Aziraphale.

"Sorry, I've never seen this company before," Anathema admitted, putting down the dirty hospital gown.

"It looks familiar but I just can't remember,"

"Damn," hissed Crowley. Anathema gave him a quick jab in the ribs and tilted her head at Barnaby, who's head the entire interaction went over.

"Is there anything else we can try?" the red-head asked grumpily, rubbing his side. The witch paused for a moment, the gears turning in her mind. Suddenly she gave a loud snap.

"I have it!" she rushed over to the closet and pulled out a rolled up map, pushing it into Newton's hands, "It won't be perfect though, I can't directly track Aziraphale," she explained rummaging back through the kitchen drawers pulling out every candle she could find. "But I should be able to find a base of operations," Anathema said now stepping on top of the counter to reach a small wooden box on top on the fridge. Inside she pulled out some sort of pendulum with a sharp needle like tip. "You see, symbols themselves have a certain energy signature," Anathema swiped the kitchen table clear and spread out the map, "And the place with the most association with a certain symbol will resonate with the same energy,"

"So If you follow the energy, you find the bad guys," finished Barnaby watching fascinated as the woman began to make a circle of candles around what he could now see as a map of the United Kingdom.

"Exactly," she smiled passing Crowley a box of matches. Ever the drama queen, he just tossed them over her shoulder and began lighting the candles with his fingers. Barnaby gasped at the explainable magic. The only person he'd ever met with that kind of ability was his dear Aziraphale.

"You're an angel!"

"Not exactly," snorted Crowley. Behind him, Anathema could barley stifle her laughter as he cut out the blocky logo from the dirty hospital gown.

"Okay, I think we're ready," Everyone gathered in close, watching in silence as the witch lifted the pendulum her right hand the the square of cloth in the other. She stood over the map and whispered a few words in a long dead language. A bright red glow began to illuminate her left hand. It bust to life, turning the plain cloth into dozens of tiny dots of red light. Like fireflies they circled the room a few times before settling into the pendulum, the needle like tip glowing with an unnatural light. Slowly moving her wrist Anathema began to glide the point back and forth over the map, speaking softly more of that long forgotten tongue.

Bit by bit another small red dot began to glow on the map growing bigger and redder by the second. With every pass the needle edged closer and closer as if drawn by an unseen magnet. Until it burst from the witch's hand, lodging itself into the table and right in the epicenter of red. The second the red tip pressed into the red glow, a shock wave basted forth blowing out the candle and ruffling hair, caring small red fireflies with it. Once the smoke cleared, all was left was a pendulum sticking straight in the middle of Manchester.

"There,"

Crowley gave a devilish grin and straightened his shades. Finally he had a lead, he could do something. The lanky demon could fell an impatience swelling up inside of him, he had to get out of here and fight back. Now he had a place, a target for his anger. Baby blue and bright purple lights brought him back, next to him Barnaby was hopping from foot in foot in excitement.

"We have to go there! We have to go save Mr. Fell and stop Ca-" he declared smiling ear to ear. A twinge of guilt flashed in Crowley's heart. He bent down and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, stopping the hopping.

"I'm sorry Bart, but you're not coming,"

"But," the small face fell. Crowley could feel the guilt inside of him growing, but this was the best way.

"Anathema and Newton are going to let you stay with them, It's safer that way,"

"But I have to save Aziraphale. It's all my fault!" Barnaby's brown eyes were starting to water. He got the angel into this mess, he couldn't just trust someone else to get him out of it.

"No buddy, it's not your fault. This doesn't have anything to do with you," Crowley stressed. But Barnaby knew the truth, this was all about him.

"But it is, they were after me," he whispered.

"They weren't, they were just mad at Aziraphale," reassured the demon, still not understanding.

Barnaby realized then what he had to do. A panic began to well in his chest. He'd promised, he'd promised he would never show anyone. But Crowley was 'not exactly' an angel and Anathema and Newton were nice enough. Surely they wouldn't want to hurt him, even if they knew. But he promised Aziraphale. Except now he was gone, possibly forever, and Barnaby had to get him back. No matter what it took. So, the boy gave Crowley a determined look and arm by arm slipped off his raincoat. Sucking in his breath, he slowly extended his feathery wings.


	11. Chapter 11

You could cut the tension in that room with a knife. The shocked silence was palpable, almost suffocating. Barnaby kept his head low, holding his breath. The boy only opened his wings halfway, slightly wrapping them around himself defensively. It felt good to spread his wings after having them tucked for so many hours. Small downy feathers stuck out at odd angles giving him a ruffled look. But what if he made a mistake? What if the adults hated them?

"Whoa...That's new," Crowley articulated only slightly better than the stammering mess of a witch-finder behind him. A part of the demon wanted to reach out and touch the beautiful limbs, but he knew better. Unwanted touch of another ethereal being's wings was a gross intrusion of personal space, no matter the side. Still they were the most magnificent wings he had ever seen. The warm cream of the inner feathers, so much warmer than an angel's. Sprinkled with flecks of varying browns, like a painter who flicked his brush at the canvas, little 'imperfections' making it all the more beautiful. The outer feathers amazed Crowley as neither angelic nor demonic. A reddish-brown with its own flashes of lighter brown mixed in, each feather outlined with a more chocolaty color. It was perfect and complete with its imperfections, human incarnate. Complicated and varied, but still whole. Unlike the straight black and white of his world.

After a few moments, Crowley tore his eyes away from the russet feathers and to their owner's small face. Not looking anyone in the eye, the boy scrunched up with tension and fear he was trying so hard to hide. Barnaby was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, to be rejected again. It was coming any second now.

"Hey, no one's going to hurt you here," Crowley lifted the young boy's chin. Hesitation and doubt flickered across his brown eyes, "Look, I have my own set, see?" The demon didn't bother taking off his coat as he materialized his ebony wings, just letting them rip right through. He could always miracle it whole again later. The demon wanted Barnaby to feel safe, to trust him. And showing his wings was the quickest way to get his point across. The room was too small for the man to spread to his full wingspan, so instead Crowley kept his immaculate wings mostly tucked.

"They're black," Barnaby whispered, moving to get a better look. They were exactly like Aziraphale's just darker, and with a bit of a glossy sheen. Not exactly an angel, the words echoed the the boy's mind. Even so, Crowley was close enough for Barnaby. It didn't mater if his wings were black, white, or purple, for all the boy cared.

"But you're human," Anathema had finally overcome her shock. At first she was taken back but even with a closer look, Barnaby was just human. She was sure of it. There was nothing supernatural at all about his aura, just a young boy who'd been through something no one should. If he was angel, demon or anything inbetween she would know. Crowley paused to think about this for a second. She was right, Bart's wings were not an angel's, and a demon that young was unheard of. Besides if he was, Crowley would have sensed it long ago. This was something else.

"So, do you want to tell us the whole story?" he asked arching his brow at the boy.

Barnaby gave a hesitant nod, "I'm ready,"

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They all gathered back in the living room, prepared to listen for however long Barnaby needed. He hadn't even told Aziraphale about his past, it hurt too much. But he had to, it could be key to finding the angel. So there he sat trying to find the right words. After smoothing down a few stray feathers, Crowley dematerialized his wings. It felt nice having them out for sure, but a small part of him was always reminded of the fall, of what he lost. Besides, they would only get in the way now. Nestled between Anathema and him on the sofa, Barnaby pulled his knees to his chest. Unconsciously, he held out his wings in a defensive position, folded but not pressed against his back.

Bit by bit he began to describe a life before, a childhood of nightmares. Small rooms, white walls, and a constant stream of new faces each as cold as the next. With each day, came new 'tests' full of pain and fear. The only change was then they took him outside to run the obstacle course. Just like the day he flew away. As far back as he could remember it was always those white walls, only two faces remaining the same.

"I didn't know his name before, but Cain was always there. Just watching. He was different from the others, never poking me with needles or anything. He just made sure I obeyed, didn't run," That harsh voice was forever ingrained in Barnaby's memory. He shivered, remembering the rumbling sound in the one place he felt safe. Barnaby barely noticed his own shaking hands but, Anathema did. Without saying a word, she placed a steadying hand on his back, between the meting of his wings.

Taking a deep breath he started again, "The other person I remember is this woman. She was the only one who ever seemed happy to see me. But she was never excited for me, just my wings. Always smiling but never at me. She talked to me a lot though, but never in English and most of the time it didn't make sense. She was with me more often than the others, but it always hurt more,"

"Wait, you said most of the time it was non-sense, what about the rest?" something in his rambling caught Anathema's attention.

"Mostly just commands, siéntate* and stuff like that,"

"You're bilingual?" Newton asked surprised. Barnaby had never thought about it before. Of course he knew Spanish, but there was no need for it since the woman was the only person he ever met who used it. And everyone on the outside seemed to only speak English anyway.

"I think so," Barnaby explained, "I just kind of picked it up, like I did English,"

"Makes sense, young children's brains are hard-wired for language learning. And if she talked to him so much in it, I wouldn't be surprised if the was even more fluent in Spanish than English," realized Newton.

But a different question was pressing Crowley's brain, "Can you get back there, to that place?"

"Sorry, I don't remember how," There were so many twists, turns, and sleepless nights, it was almost impossible to remember how he found the bookshop, much less the place where he was made. Even if he wanted to.

"So, Manchester it is then," sighed Crowley. It was worth a shot.

"I want to go with you," Barnaby pressed again. He wasn't going to let this go, he had to help.

"We already talked about this," Anathema replied gently.

"But now you know! They were after me, it's my fault,"

"Bart's right," admitted Crowley.

"What?"

"Not about the fault thing. About them being after him. Whoever was after him before probably won't just give up now. They're still out there. Staying here will just put everyone in danger," the demon explained. He already lost Aziraphale today, and he'd be damned again if he'd let anyone else get hurt.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind,"

"Just keep an eye on Adam. The three of us will be back before you know it,"

*siéntate = sit down

Gravel crunched beneath the Bentley's tires as Tadsfield became smaller and smaller in the distance. And as he pulled down the last country road, Crowley could see four small figures waving them goodbye. Turning around in the seat next to him, Barnaby gave a small wave back. He'd covered up his wings again, looking just like any other kid. But Crowley knew better, it wasn't his wings that set him apart, it was his spirit. The kid had been robbed of his childhood, and the basic human need to be loved for years, finding it only in the gentle arms of a complete stranger. Then, when for the first time he finally had a chance of a real life, it was stolen from him. But still Barnaby refused to be bitter, or to just give up and accept his fate. He fought and struggled just for the chance to do something. For a chance of being to be the victim of fate, but to take his life into his own hands. And Crowley respected that.

Sitting contently in the passenger seat, Barnaby swung his his feet back and forth hitting the glove box every so often, setting off a flurry of blinking lights. Crowley gave a little snicker. The bright pink just looked so out of place with Barnaby's otherwise mature clothing, it was funny. Obviously something Aziraphale would never pick out. The demon heard about light-up shoes from his nanny days when Warlock was that age, but his parents, always the kill-joys disproved of all things fun and childish. So this was the first time he had actually seen a pair. And now that he did, Crowley had to admit wearing his own pair of blinking sneakers was sounding pretty good, except for his pride and heightened fashioned sense.

"So, new shoes?" he smirked. The boy stopped his kicking, looking down to his shoes and back up to the driver.

"My first pair, yeah,"

"Pretty colorful, aren't they,"

"Why does everyone seem to have a problem with my shoes?" asked Barnaby. He truly didn't understand what was wrong, "I like them, they're fun. And I don't even have to worry about laces,"

"Don't worry about those people, they're just jealous that they don't have lights in their own shoes," Crowley declared avoiding the real question. There was no way he was spreading that specific gender colors crap that had become so popular lately. Hell, a hundred years ago pink was seen a more of a male color. So who was to say someone couldn't wear a shirt just because of the frequency of light it didn't absorb. He missed the renaissance, back when he could wear a skirt one day, pants the next and no one would question it.

"Maybe they should all get a pair then," Barnaby figured. Maybe the world would be a better place if everyone had lights on their feet.

With a grin, Crowley flicked on the radio. Only if life was that simple.

Mmm num ba de Dum bum ba be Doo buh dum ba beh beh. Pressure pushing down on me Pressing down on you-

Barnaby practically jumped out of his seat, fanatically looking for the disembodied voice. He jerked to look into the back seat bumping into Crowley. The demon griped the steering wheel harder, severing to avoid the ditch, before slamming on the breaks. Still the boy looked around wild-eyed for the unseen men.

It's the terror of knowing what the world is about. Watching some good friends screaming "Let me out!"

"Will you stop it, it's just sound," Crowley sighed. To prove his point, the demon turned the volume knob up and down, then flicked it off and on a few times for good measure, "See, I'm controlling it,"

Reaching out his hand Barnaby pressed down knob himself, almost jumping out of his skin again when the music started again. The boy paused for a second, at first he thought it was just some men talking in unison. But now that he listened closer it had a rhythm, an underlying beat to the almost non-sense words. "What is it?"

"it's music. It's...it's like...just listen it's fun," Crowley tried to explain moving the car forward again. Shaking his head he turned the radio up a bit. This was going to be a long drive and certainly one of his strangest.

This is our last dance, This is ourselves under pressure. Under pressure.

You could cut the tension in that room with a knife. The shocked silence was palpable, almost suffocating. Barnaby kept his head low, holding his breath. The boy only opened his wings halfway, slightly wrapping them around himself defensively. It felt good to spread his wings after having them tucked for so many hours. Small downy feathers stuck out at odd angles giving him a ruffled look. But what if he made a mistake? What if the adults hated them?

"Whoa...That's new," Crowley articulated only slightly better than the stammering mess of a witch-finder behind him. A part of the demon wanted to reach out and touch the beautiful limbs, but he knew better. Unwanted touch of another ethereal being's wings was a gross intrusion of personal space, no matter the side. Still they were the most magnificent wings he had ever seen. The warm cream of the inner feathers, so much warmer than an angel's. Sprinkled with flecks of varying browns, like a painter who flicked his brush at the canvas, little 'imperfections' making it all the more beautiful. The outer feathers amazed Crowley as neither angelic nor demonic. A reddish-brown with its own flashes of lighter brown mixed in, each feather outlined with a more chocolaty color. It was perfect and complete with its imperfections, human incarnate. Complicated and varied, but still whole. Unlike the straight black and white of his world.

After a few moments, Crowley tore his eyes away from the russet feathers and to their owner's small face. Not looking anyone in the eye, the boy scrunched up with tension and fear he was trying so hard to hide. Barnaby was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, to be rejected again. It was coming any second now.

"Hey, no one's going to hurt you here," Crowley lifted the young boy's chin. Hesitation and doubt flickered across his brown eyes, "Look, I have my own set, see?" The demon didn't bother taking off his coat as he materialized his ebony wings, just letting them rip right through. He could always miracle it whole again later. The demon wanted Barnaby to feel safe, to trust him. And showing his wings was the quickest way to get his point across. The room was too small for the man to spread to his full wingspan, so instead Crowley kept his immaculate wings mostly tucked.

"They're black," Barnaby whispered, moving to get a better look. They were exactly like Aziraphale's just darker, and with a bit of a glossy sheen. Not exactly an angel, the words echoed the the boy's mind. Even so, Crowley was close enough for Barnaby. It didn't mater if his wings were black, white, or purple, for all the boy cared.

"But you're human," Anathema had finally overcome her shock. At first she was taken back but even with a closer look, Barnaby was just human. She was sure of it. There was nothing supernatural at all about his aura, just a young boy who'd been through something no one should. If he was angel, demon or anything inbetween she would know. Crowley paused to think about this for a second. She was right, Bart's wings were not an angel's, and a demon that young was unheard of. Besides if he was, Crowley would have sensed it long ago. This was something else.

"So, do you want to tell us the whole story?" he asked arching his brow at the boy.

Barnaby gave a hesitant nod, "I'm ready,"

They all gathered back in the living room, prepared to listen for however long Barnaby needed. He hadn't even told Aziraphale about his past, it hurt too much. But he had to, it could be key to finding the angel. So there he sat trying to find the right words. After smoothing down a few stray feathers, Crowley dematerialized his wings. It felt nice having them out for sure, but a small part of him was always reminded of the fall, of what he lost. Besides, they would only get in the way now. Nestled between Anathema and him on the sofa, Barnaby pulled his knees to his chest. Unconsciously, he held out his wings in a defensive position, folded but not pressed against his back.

Bit by bit he began to describe a life before, a childhood of nightmares. Small rooms, white walls, and a constant stream of new faces each as cold as the next. With each day, came new 'tests' full of pain and fear. The only change was then they took him outside to run the obstacle course. Just like the day he flew away. As far back as he could remember it was always those white walls, only two faces remaining the same.

"I didn't know his name before, but Cain was always there. Just watching. He was different from the others, never poking me with needles or anything. He just made sure I obeyed, didn't run," That harsh voice was forever ingrained in Barnaby's memory. He shivered, remembering the rumbling sound in the one place he felt safe. Barnaby barely noticed his own shaking hands but, Anathema did. Without saying a word, she placed a steadying hand on his back, between the meting of his wings.

Taking a deep breath he started again, "The other person I remember is this woman. She was the only one who ever seemed happy to see me. But she was never excited for me, just my wings. Always smiling but never at me. She talked to me a lot though, but never in English and most of the time it didn't make sense. She was with me more often than the others, but it always hurt more,"

"Wait, you said most of the time it was non-sense, what about the rest?" something in his rambling caught Anathema's attention.

"Mostly just commands, siéntate* and stuff like that,"

"You're bilingual?" Newton asked surprised. Barnaby had never thought about it before. Of course he knew Spanish, but there was no need for it since the woman was the only person he ever met who used it. And everyone on the outside seemed to only speak English anyway.

"I think so," Barnaby explained, "I just kind of picked it up, like I did English,"

"Makes sense, young children's brains are hard-wired for language learning. And if she talked to him so much in it, I wouldn't be surprised if the was even more fluent in Spanish than English," realized Newton.

But a different question was pressing Crowley's brain, "Can you get back there, to that place?"

"Sorry, I don't remember how," There were so many twists, turns, and sleepless nights, it was almost impossible to remember how he found the bookshop, much less the place where he was made. Even if he wanted to.

"So, Manchester it is then," sighed Crowley. It was worth a shot.

"I want to go with you," Barnaby pressed again. He wasn't going to let this go, he had to help.

"We already talked about this," Anathema replied gently.

"But now you know! They were after me, it's my fault,"

"Bart's right," admitted Crowley.

"What?"

"Not about the fault thing. About them being after him. Whoever was after him before probably won't just give up now. They're still out there. Staying here will just put everyone in danger," the demon explained. He already lost Aziraphale today, and he'd be damned again if he'd let anyone else get hurt.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind,"

"Just keep an eye on Adam. The three of us will be back before you know it,"

*******************************************************************************************************************  
*siéntate = sit down  
*******************************************************************************************************************

Gravel crunched beneath the Bentley's tires as Tadsfield became smaller and smaller in the distance. And as he pulled down the last country road, Crowley could see four small figures waving them goodbye. Turning around in the seat next to him, Barnaby gave a small wave back. He'd covered up his wings again, looking just like any other kid. But Crowley knew better, it wasn't his wings that set him apart, it was his spirit. The kid had been robbed of his childhood, and the basic human need to be loved for years, finding it only in the gentle arms of a complete stranger. Then, when for the first time he finally had a chance of a real life, it was stolen from him. But still Barnaby refused to be bitter, or to just give up and accept his fate. He fought and struggled just for the chance to do something. For a chance of being to be the victim of fate, but to take his life into his own hands. And Crowley respected that.

Sitting contently in the passenger seat, Barnaby swung his his feet back and forth hitting the glove box every so often, setting off a flurry of blinking lights. Crowley gave a little snicker. The bright pink just looked so out of place with Barnaby's otherwise mature clothing, it was funny. Obviously something Aziraphale would never pick out. The demon heard about light-up shoes from his nanny days when Warlock was that age, but his parents, always the kill-joys disproved of all things fun and childish. So this was the first time he had actually seen a pair. And now that he did, Crowley had to admit wearing his own pair of blinking sneakers was sounding pretty good, except for his pride and heightened fashioned sense.

"So, new shoes?" he smirked. The boy stopped his kicking, looking down to his shoes and back up to the driver.

"My first pair, yeah,"

"Pretty colorful, aren't they,"

"Why does everyone seem to have a problem with my shoes?" asked Barnaby. He truly didn't understand what was wrong, "I like them, they're fun. And I don't even have to worry about laces,"

"Don't worry about those people, they're just jealous that they don't have lights in their own shoes," Crowley declared avoiding the real question. There was no way he was spreading that specific gender colors crap that had become so popular lately. Hell, a hundred years ago pink was seen a more of a male color. So who was to say someone couldn't wear a shirt just because of the frequency of light it didn't absorb. He missed the renaissance, back when he could wear a skirt one day, pants the next and no one would question it.

"Maybe they should all get a pair then," Barnaby figured. Maybe the world would be a better place if everyone had lights on their feet.

With a grin, Crowley flicked on the radio. Only if life was that simple.

_Mmm num ba de Dum bum ba be Doo buh dum ba beh beh. Pressure pushing down on me Pressing down on you-_

Barnaby practically jumped out of his seat, fanatically looking for the disembodied voice. He jerked to look into the back seat bumping into Crowley. The demon griped the steering wheel harder, severing to avoid the ditch, before slamming on the breaks. Still the boy looked around wild-eyed for the unseen men.

_It's the terror of knowing what the world is about. Watching some good friends screaming "Let me out!"_

"Will you stop it, it's just sound," Crowley sighed. To prove his point, the demon turned the volume knob up and down, then flicked it off and on a few times for good measure, "See, I'm controlling it,"

Reaching out his hand Barnaby pressed down knob himself, almost jumping out of his skin again when the music started again. The boy paused for a second, at first he thought it was just some men talking in unison. But now that he listened closer it had a rhythm, an underlying beat to the almost non-sense words. "What is it?"

"it's music. It's...it's like...just listen it's fun," Crowley tried to explain moving the car forward again. Shaking his head he turned the radio up a bit. This was going to be a long drive and certainly one of his strangest.

_This is our last dance, This is ourselves under pressure. Under pressure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I rewrote this like three times but still can't seem to get it right. Oh well, here it is. If you didn't know the song is "Under pressure" by Queen and David Bowe. And FYI I don't know Spanish so I'm sorry if I get anything wrong. Thank you all for reading.


	12. Chapter 12

Aziraphale felt as if he was lost in a hazy cloud. Like he was floating in nothingness, even his thoughts were fleeting. Each time he tried to focus on one it slipped away from him, just out of reach. The angel was vaguely aware of a dull ache in his chest and head, but that too seemed distant and meaningless. But even through the numbness, it all felt wrong. He felt a certain uneasiness, a nameless felling of danger. Like a bad dream he was helpless to wake from.

Every once in a while memories flashed in Aziraphale's mind. Fleeting images he was unable to connect in his haze. Armed men grabbing at him, shouting. Snapping out his wings on pure instinct, trying to shake off the attackers. Too many to miracle away without attracting heaven's attention. But after long he didn't even have that option, with both his arms and wings pinned behind his back. A man stepping in front of him, familiar yet somehow twisted, flaming red hair and a voice like broken glass. It got blurry after that, a stream of questions the angel refused to answer and blows each harder than the last. Until the memories too faded into nothingness.

It was hard to tell how much time passed, or if it passed at all. But his thoughts were becoming easier to catch, and the pain was getting sharper and sharper. Less of a dull ache anymore, now a hot throbbing in his chest and a sledge hammer in his skull. The floating sensation was gone now, but his limbs felt heavy as if made of lead. He could feel all six of them now, but it was a distant sort of recognition. Like they were there but not connected to him, unwilling to move. Maybe if Aziraphale tried hard enough he could wiggle his fingers. But something stopped him. If his body would accept his brain's signals, it would shiver. A hand was on his wing, not necessarily painful or harsh but still unwanted. He didn't entirely understand why, but the angel wanted this touch gone.

"Mi ángel, tan hermosas alas, tan hermosas alas*," a woman's voice spoke softly. The hands moved down the wing, outlining each feather softly. Until they reached a gap in the uniform white. They coldly prodded the sore flesh where a primary had been torn out, sending a spike of pain through the angel. His eyelids were heavy and just prying them open was an uphill battle, but the small agony was enough to push him over. Slowly his eyes began to open a crack, then a little bit more. He almost regretted it, bright white light inflamed his already aching head. It took a moment to adjust, and even when he did it all seemed fuzzy. Like a camera just out of focus, making it difficult to place his surroundings. But she was crystal clear.

She was dark skinned with long raven hair. A beautiful young woman in every aspect but what really mattered. Inbetween her defined cheekbones was a face devoid of all kindness. Cold detachment and fiery passion all at once. Dark eyes shining in awe as she reached out and admired the ethereal wings, giving a feather a tug as if testing it. Despite himself, a whimper left Aziraphale's lips. And all of the sudden those dark eyes were on him. But there was no hint of sympathy, hate, or anything really, just a mild curiosity.

"Oh, el sedante se está desgastando**," she mused reaching to pick something off a tray. In her hands she held a large needle as nonchalantly as someone would hold their car keys. Without bating an eye she plunged it into Aziraphale's arm, and pushed down the plunger. He tried to struggle away but still his body wouldn't listen. So all the angel could do was twitch a bit as he faded back into a numb haze.

*****************************************************************************************************************************

*Mi ángel, tan hermosas alas, tan hermosas alas = My angel, such beautiful wings, such beautiful wings

**Oh, el sedante se está desgastando = Oh, the sedative is wearing off

**************************************************************************************************************

Crowley was used to big cities, he lived in London for Satan's sake. But the last time he had been in Manchester was probably over fifty years ago. So as he drove along the demon was becoming more and more frustrated as well as lost. If it was possible to get lost when you had no idea what you were looking for. It wasn't like he could just drive around all night looking for a symbol, at least not with Bart. It was already seven o'clock, and unlike Crowley the boy actually had to sleep. And that meant finding somewhere to stay the night.

As he drove on a little shop caught his eye. A tourist center next to a train station. Swallowing his pride, the lanky man pulled into the parking lot. It was one of those places where saps dropped in to get mementos and books like 100 best museums. But he desperately needed a map and a chance to stretch his legs. Crowley chuckled as he turned off the engine, Barnaby had barely noticed they'd stopped until the radio sent silent. Once he got used to it's newness, the boy had been enthralled with the music, not caring at all when the limited queen songs repeated themselves. It was all so new and lively, unlike anything he had heard before, seemingly magic coming from thin air.

"You coming?"

"Oh, yeah," Barnaby didn't realize that he was just sitting there staring into space. The boy shook his head and stepped out into the damp night air. He pulled his coat a little tighter around himself, fall would be coming soon, and followed the demon inside.

The store itself wasn't that impressive, a information desk/checkout in the back with some shelves in-between. They were stocked with basics like clothes, toiletries, umbrellas, and anything else someone might need on vacation. The only other people in the store was a small family trying to explain something to the register. But Crowley ignored all of that, making his way to a rack of maps and pamphlets along the wall. It was settled next to the stuffed animals and other children's toys, for when parents fly in but are too much of a disappointment to buy a gift ahead of time.

With a sigh, Crowley inspected the maps. First he plucked out a road-map, that was a given. But it would be practically useless finding Aziraphale. So the demon turned to the sightseeing pamphlets. Public Parks, probably not. Art galleries of Manchester, nope. Industrial Quarter, maybe. He worked his way down the rack grabbing everything that could possibly help. Lastly, grabbing a list of nearby places to stay. He had quite the large stack now as he turned to the checkout.

"Well Bart, I think this will do," he said to no one. The boy wasn't standing next to him anymore. Crowley spun around panicked, frantically scanning the store. He couldn't loose him, not now. He had to protect the kid for more reasons than just Aziraphale. Barnaby deserved a life, a real one. The demon was almost ready to search the street, when he finally spotted the boy. He was at the information desk talking to the little family they saw walking in. The father looked as if he was explaining something as he made vague hand gestures. Crowley was almost ready to storm over, but stopped.

With a nod Barnaby turned to the man running the shop, "They came up from Spain to visit his sick aunt but don't know how to get to the hospital," Crowley felt his shoulders relax. He watched from afar as the boy translated directions. He looked so happy helping, being useful to others. It didn't take long to get the problem sorted out and the directions written down. The mother gave him a hug in gratitude and the Spaniards went on their way. It was only then that Barnaby realized Crowley was watching.

The boy gave a little wave and headed over. For a second Crowley wondered if he should chew him out for wandering off, but decided against it. Bart wasn't stupid, he just wanted to help. Besides a little trouble was healthy at that and all ages. An idea popped into the demon's mind, "One sec, I have a few more things to grab,"

************************************************************************************************************

"What do you mean there's no open rooms? It's a Thursday for crying out loud!" Not wanting to attract too much attention, Crowley had picked a small motel to stay the night in. Not the worst but certainly not a tourist destination. But this was ridiculous, it was a weekday who could possibly be renting rooms?

"Sorry but like I said, all rooms are taken," a bored looking attendant shrugged.

"Then check again," Crowley hissed. The man gave him an unimpressed glare then typed something into his computer.

"See no open r- Oh wait, one just opened up,"

The confused attendant grabbed the demon his key muttering something about faulty computers. He passed it over to the stranger in the sunglasses, watching him walk away taking his little boy's hand.

"Wait sir! Did you know your coat's ripped?" There were two long jagged tears in the back of his expensive black jacket.

"No it's not," the man said without missing a beat. He was right, it was a completely normal jacket, no rips or anything. The attendant shook his head, he'd swore that it was ripped a minute ago. Maybe it was time to finally take out some of his vacation days, this place was starting to get to his head.

The moment he opened the door to his room Crowley flopped face-first onto the nearest bed. Giggling Barnaby flopped down next to him. Giving an overly dramatic groan the Demon flipped over onto his back to reveal a toothy smile. Barnaby pulled himself up into a sitting position and grinned back. He liked this man, even if he seemed irritating at first. Suddenly the demon popped up and began to rummage through their purchases from the tourist center. Somehow grinning even more, the demon pulled out a plush animal and a pack of tiny cars. He brought them over and pressed the items into Barnaby's hands, expectantly.

"Here, I got them for you,"

The boy turned the soft beige animal over in his hands. It had four stocky legs each one ending in claws, a long thick tail, two rabbit-like ears, and a strange snout that looked like a pig's. Barnaby knew of a few animals, but not of one like this. He also couldn't seem to figure out why Crowley was giving him the model in the first place. But the man seemed excited about it.

"What is it?" Barnaby finally asked holding out the soft creature.

"An aardvark,"

"Aardvark?"

"Well...You know...it eats ants and stuff down in Africa," the demon tried to explain. That made no sense to the boy but he nodded anyway.

"What does it do?" the boy gestured to the model mammal. The demon gave a little pout at that.

"It's a toy, I guess it does what you want it to. It's fun, like a little friend," Since stuffed animals or animals at all were never a thing when he was young, the demon never actually had one, but Warlock adored his and they seemed very popular with kids for a long time now. Barnaby looked down at the toy, it did have a certain charm to it and he liked it's soft fur.

"A little friend,"

The boy now turned his attention to the pack of tiny cars. They were just like the one's he'd been seeing all day, he could even see a little steering wheel when he looked though the tiny windows. But they were so small, too small for anyone to ride in. Maybe they were for teaching people the different breeds of car? Crowley chuckled seeing the boy's confusion. Reaching over he opened the pack and pulled out a model Bentley that he may or may not have miracled into existence. Now this was something he could explain. With a devilish grin, he set the car down on the nightstand. Flicking it with his finger, the tiny Bentley was soaring into the middle of the room.

"Now these are fun," Crowley grinned getting up to retrieve the car. Seeing for himself Barnaby took another one out of the bag. It didn't seem to be powered by a engine like the normal sized cars, just by pushes from whoever was playing with it at the time. Remembering Crowley, the boy set it on the night stand and gave it a little push. And just like the tiny Bentley it went flying into the motel room, just not as far.

"You can do better than that," challenged Crowley. His declaration started an all out war of tiny cars flying through the room. Each one going further than the last, and howls of laughter following each one's flight. Eventually Crowley flicked a car that simply couldn't be beat with the help of a little demonic miracle. But the demon would never admit to his small amount of foul play. Barnaby didn't seem to mind though as he stifled a yawn.

"How about you get ready for bed?" Crowley suggested. The boy nodded and began to rummage around in his bag of clothes. The demon on the other hand grabbed his stack of pamphlets and settled himself on the bed. He'd opened the one on top and began to leaf through when Barnaby reemerged from the bathroom. Looking up the demon felt his breath catch. Wearing it like an over-sized night-gown, Barnaby had on Aziraphale's light blue sweater. It was the same one Crowley gave to him back in the fifties, he spent months tracking down the perfect one for his angel. And it was the principality's favorite to this day.

Crowley fought back the rage in his chest, Aziraphale was out there somewhere, all alone in the night. Surrounded by unknown enemies, doing who knew what. But getting mad now would only upset Barnaby. Slits had been cut into the back of the sweater letting him pull his wings through. They were ruffled and messy from being hidden all day, russet feathers sticking out at all angles.

"Come here," with a sigh Crowley patted the mattress next to him. It just bothered him to see wings in such condition. Aziraphale's wings always drove Crowley nuts, so disorderly. Slowly moving his hands though the soft feathers the demon groomed them back into place. Now sitting in his lap, Barnaby leaned back into the demon cradling his aardvark with one arm. Crowley moved slowly and purposely forcing out his thoughts, just relishing in the small touch. It didn't take long for the small form pressed against him to fall into the rhythmic breathing of sleep.

A small part of the demon was tempted to join the boy. But Crowley knew that he couldn't even think of closing his eyes until his angel was safe again. So he turned off the lights and sat in the dark making a silent promise to the one good thing he had ever known.


	13. Chapter 13

"How about this one?" Barnaby asked pushing an open pamphlet to Crowley.

"Nah, that can't be it," the demon said looking over the page.

Swiping it back, the boy gave the building in question a closer look, "Yeah, you're right," Taking a swig of his orange juice he flipped to the next page. Sitting in a little diner across from the motel, the two scoured over pamphlets and maps searing for anything that could possibly be some sort of headquarters. Anathema's map may have lead them to Manchester but that only got them so far. The rest was up to them.

"Are you ready to order?" asks an older waitress. She waits patiently as Crowley digs his menu out from his mess of papers and smiles at Barnaby as he copies him. The demon orders something more out of politeness than anything. He really was never big on the whole food thing, but of course he didn't mind a nice cup up of coffee every now and again.

Except for Barnaby it was a little bit harder. Even with a kid's menu, a good portion of it was written down in as the boy like to describe it, a line of partly curvy partly sharp symbols. He knew adults somehow could translate them into speech but the boy just couldn't figure out how. It didn't help much that no one had ever bothered to tell him that unlike English and Spanish, the brain just wasn't hardwired to pick up reading by itself. The boy just assumed it was something that everyone knew how to do, and was quite embarrassed that just couldn't seem to figure it out. Barnaby considered asked Crowley to read it for him, but he was too ashamed.

"How about that?" Barnaby pointed to a picture feeling sheepish. One good thing about a kid's menu was the sheer amount of photos, he would have eaten practically anything. Crowley glanced up at him with a raised eye brown, then looked back down to his pamphlets with a shrug. On the other had the waitress just smiled and wrote something down.

The two sat in silence for a while, each looking over their own stack of papers, occasionally taking a bite of food. But as the silence wore on it started to get on Crowley's nerves.

"So, have you picked a name out for your aardvark yet?" he asked unable to think of anything else.

"A name? I didn't know it needed one," Barnaby glanced at the soft animal next to him and pulled it into his lap.

"That's the rule,"

"Naming is usually customary,"

Barnaby frowned at that. He never named anything before. And he really didn't know that many names in the first place, the ones he did know were already taken. It wouldn't be fair to steal someone else's name. He really wasn't prepared for this kind of responsibility.

"Can you do it?"

"No can do. This is all up to you, little man," chuckled Crowley. Of course he had had some experience with naming things such as plants, stars, and other various things. But a little decision making would be good for Bart, and besides it wasn't really his decision.

With a sigh Barnaby picked up his aardvark to examine it. Hell, he couldn't even tell what gender it was supposed to be. How could he name it without knowing it's gender? Because apparently certain names were for certain genders or something. But what if he guessed the wrong and gave it a boy's name only to find out it was a girl all along? He'd have to figure some way around that.

Deep in thought the boy stroked it's long ears. They didn't seem to match the rest of the animal(if any part of it really fit anyway).More like the pointy ears of a bunny that whatever an aardvark was.

"Rabbit," thought the boy aloud.

"Huh?"

"Rabbit, it's its name," he decided. The lanky man across the table just tilted his head in confusion. "This way I don't have to steal anyone's name, or try to guess its gender,"

"But it's an aardvark,"

"I know, but I can't just go around calling it 's more of a description than a name. Besides it has rabbit ears," for emphasis the child waved the big ears with his hands, knocking a few stray papers off the table.

Chuckling with a shake of his head Crowley admitted, "I guess when you explain it like that..." If you could name a dog Bear, who's to say you can't name a aardvark Rabbit?

Smiling at the small praise, Barnaby bent down to pick up the strewed papers. But as his thin hand reached down it froze in place. One of the pamphlets that had been lower in the stack laid wide open in the isle. It was like most of the others, just a picture of a tall building with some text next to it, but what set it apart was in the top-left corner was printed with the symbol.

"Looklooklook!" moving quickly Barnaby snatched it up and pressed it into the surprised demon's hands. It took him a few moments to comprehend the significance of what he held between his fingers.

"It's them, this is it," Crowley breathed. He could feel his stomach churn somehow both with relief and anxiousness. Behind shades yellow eyes locked onto the description.

"Avis Labs is a international research and development company, but it is ran out of the United Kingdom with its headquarters in downtown Manchester. Specializes in product testing, computer hardware, biochemistry...free weekend tours at 12:00, 2:00, and 4:00," he read aloud skimming over a few unnecessary parts. A lab, Crowley had heard they were becoming more common with the turn of the century but abducting bookshop keepers and changing human DNA had to be illegal even by the demon's loose standards. To cover this much up, it had to be either an extremely small very well-funded group of individuals, or a massive spidering organization of somewhat well-funded ones. It made sense though, Barnaby's description of a nightmarish childhood, hell the reason for the boy's existence at all. Made not born, he shuddered at the thought.

"Mr. Crowley?" a small voice asked sounding concerned. Big brown eyes looked up at the demon, reminding him of the task at hand.

Standing up and nodding at the door he said,"C'mon, I have an idea,"

Coming back a few minutes later, the waitress was quite confused to find the table empty except for an overflow of brochures, pamphlets, and other pieces of travel information. But what really caught her attention was the large bill sitting on top, far larger than needed. Quickly she pocketed it, and began to shuffle the papers together. Who cared if they left a mess, when you get a tip like that. And as she dumped the superfluous papers, she was busy considering what color she wanted her new heels to be.

*****************************************************************************************************************************

Less than twenty minutes later, a certain demon was double parked across the street from the Avis Labs headquarters. It was a tall building but only about 30 or so stories all, barely a skyscraper. Crowley could feel a hot rage swelling in him as he eyed the big light up logo, but he forced it down along with his gaze scanning down to the lobby. From the other-side of pristine glass doors he could see a large help desk in the back-middle of the room and small crowd mulling around off to the side. Mostly tourists and a couple of families with primary school aged children waiting for the two o'clock tour. Occasionally a man or woman in a suit would rush by to the elevator.

He knew that he should be over there waiting with them but something held the demon back. Casting a sidelong glance Crowley turned his attention to Barnaby. He was looking through the window complete focused as if trying to memorize everything in front of him, barely even noticing his protector's gaze. Taking Bart inside was risky, thought the demon. These were the people looking for him after all, and they seemed pretty determined to take the boy back. But leaving him in the Bentley wasn't an option either, even if he was a perfectly normal kid not on the run. Crowley could always drive the boy back to the motel and take the four o'clock tour, but that didn't suit the demon either. Even though he never said it aloud, he had a promise to keep. And the best way to safeguard it was keeping Bart close.

"Come on," Crowley decided, not really having much of a choice. He opened the passenger side door and took the boy's hand more for his own sake than Barnaby's. Who followed along lightly holding Rabbit to his chest with his free hand. Even if this wasn't where he remembered being before, it still made him nervous. And the second they got inside it got much worse.

He had barely walked a few feet from the door when Crowley felt a tug at his arm. He could feel waves of fear rolling off the small form next to him in waves. Looking down Crowley saw Barnaby practically hiding behind his legs, using the older man to shield his face. His fear was more than shyness,more intense, raw. Bart has always been a little guarded but this was something else. For a slit second the boy lifted his eyes to cast a terrified glance across the room before ducking down again. Protective instincts flaring, Crowley followed Barnaby's gaze, but was careful not to turn his head. It was a small group of chairs sitting outside an office labeled Security, angled just right that he couldn't see earlier from the Bentley. A single well-build man sat in the chair closest to the door looking bored out of this mind. He had flaming red hair and a jaw so square it could cut. His face wasn't exactly ugly but defiantly far from handsome, it seemed worn out, lined with angry wrinkles somehow worn into young face like a permanent grimace, and a crooked nose from too many breaks over the years. Nothing about his clothes were close to a uniform or even formal enough for a job interview, but Crowley knew a military man when he saw one.

Moving quickly and mind racing the demon let go of Barnaby's hand and grabbed him under the arms. He lifted the boy onto his hip opposite the of the man, gently pressing the small face into his shoulder. For a second the boy twisted in his grip, but quickly settled realizing Crowley's intent. He pressed his face down further into the demon's black coat, pulling down his beanie to obscure the rest of his face.

"Cain," whispered Barnaby inches away from Crowley's ear. It was quiet, barely audible, but it made the demon's blood run colder. In another time and place he would have torn apart that man on the spot. Ripping into him until he told what that monster had done to his angel, then rip into him some more. But there was just too much at risk and it was too public a place. So no matter how much he hated it, Crowley simply quickened his pace. There was just too much to lose, laying low was the only option he had.

Cain glanced up for a moment at the man holding a sleepy child then pulled out his phone. Just another tourist, he shrugged skimming through his e-mail. Avis Labs was still looking for a little boy wandering alone on the streets on London. Not one right under their noses right here in Manchester with his "father". So Cain barely gave the two a second thought as he waited to report in.


	14. Chapter 14

"Is it too late to sign up for a tour?" Crowley asked the receptionist checking his watch. 1:58, he was cutting it close.

"No not at all, just wait over there," she made a vague gesture gesture towards the small crowd chatting amongst themselves.

"Then we'll b-

"Oh, isn't he just adorable!" cooed the receptionist just now looking up. She twisted a bit in her chair trying to get a better look at the child's face but Barnaby buried his face further into Crowley's shoulder. Terrified that if he lifted his head for just a second Cain would see him, he gripped Rabbit so tight with shaking hands that it turned his knuckles white.

"Well Bart here is a little shy," Smirked the demon in a insincere apology, turning the small form in his arms slightly away from the front desk. Almost completely forgetting his fear, Barnaby gave a barely audible growl and clenched his free arm a little tighter around Crowley's neck in frustration. He knew better than to correct his guardian here, but Barnaby wasn't planning on letting the name thing go any time soon.

Still grinning at his small success, Crowley took his chance to escape the conversation and slipped away towards the other tourists. Most of them just ignored the demon, caught up in their own conversations, but he noted with some amusement the almost predatory gaze a few of the mothers had on him the moment he sauntered up to the group.

"So, are you here with the co-op or the summer school?" one asked feigning uninterest.

"Just, ya know, visiting," he replied absently, watching Cain out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't moved form his seat just idly scrolling down on his phone. Next to him the door opened and the large man was waved inside. Letting out a sigh of relief, Crowley felt his shoulders sag as Cain disappeared from view.

"So if your wife waiting in the car or..." tested the woman practically biting her lip as she pushed her stroller.

A flash of devilish delight popped into the demon's mind, " Nope, just me,"

"Oh tell me about it, it's so hard these days for us sing-" her flirt was cut short by an unamused looking intern holding a sign.

"Okay people, my name is Kevin and I'll be your guide today. Just follow me and please stay with the group at all times,"

Crowley was a little disappointed by his small temptation cut short, but shrugged it off. He had bigger fish to fry. And as he began to move forward the man could feel Barnaby stiffen against him. A pang of guilt flashed through the demon.

"Hey, he's gone," he whispered just loud enough for the head resting on his shoulder to hear, "But keep your head down," he added quickly eyeing a security camera suspiciously. Barnaby nodded into Crowley's shoulder shifted a bit so he could just barely see over it. Moving with the group the demon felt the soft fabric of the boy's beanie against his cheek and the comforting warmth of body heat.

The tour itself wasn't that interesting. Avis Labs headquarters was more of a management hub than a testing facility. It still had a few labs running small experiments, but it was mostly for show. None of it really stood out to the demon as he drifted to the back of the group, serpentine eyes scanning for signs of danger or anything that could be remotely useful. Settling a protective hand on Barnaby's back, he gave whispered descriptions of their surroundings and other details he thought would put the boy at ease. And to his relief, Crowley could feel the child's fear dim and his death grip loosen. No longer panicked, just weary.

"Let's move along, just the records room down this hall. Nothing too interesting here," Kevin chuckled, pointing with a shrug at a door along the wall before continuing on. Crowley paused for a moment letting the others shuffle past. Information, that's what he could really use. Even now he was mostly in the dark about this whole situation, just a little bit more intel maybe a location or two, and he could finally get this under control. Crowley watched unnoticed by the rest of the group as they rounded a corner and out of sight. Casting a glance over his shoulder the demon sent a quick pulse of energy through his fingers and into the doorknob, and before anyone could notice slipped in through the miraculously unlocked door.

Automatic lights flicked on to reveal a labyrinth of boxes and filing cabinets. At one time there must have been some sort of system but it fell into chaos years ago with the invention of electronic filing. Boxes had been lain in the floor instead of their respective shelves and most of the files were just sitting haphazardly collecting dust, except for a large disorderly stack next to the door labeled: To Be Filed.

"Keep an eye on the door while I look around," ordered Crowley placing Barnaby on his feet. Giving a nod the boy moved to the door and inched it open just enough so that he could see into the hallway.

Figuring it a good a place to start as any, Crowley made his way to the 'To Be Filed' documents and began to leaf through. Redone budgets, stress test analysis, a couple new personnel files but no one of interest, and even a proposal for re-painting the break room. Nothing even mildly useful or even slightly interesting. Frustrated he was about to give up in and move on when his eyes caught a glance of a manila envelope laying next to the pile on the floor. It must have slid off the pile before it could be properly filed.

Swiping it up, Crowley grinned at the red security stamp on the front. Opening up the top flap, the demon pulled out a few of the pages and began to read.

**Misplaced Asset: Maximum Priority**

**Category:** _Experimental_

**Hair:** _ Dark Red_

**Eyes:** _ Brown_

**Skin:** _Tan_

**Height:** _3' 10"_

**Description Notes:** _Two Functioning Avian Wings_

**Age:** _ 88 Months*_

**ID:** _ 5794K2B_

**Facility:** _ Laboratory E_

**Date Missing:** _ 6/8/2019_

_Experiment notes found at specialized facility_

Two weeks, a shudder ran down the demons spine. Bart had been for the run for more than two weeks before meeting Aziraphale. He pushed away the thought of the child wandering alone for all that time, and skimmed further. Crowley had to hurry, who knew how much time he had. The rest of the papers were mostly reports filed by Cain, which would have been helpful except for the fact that they were outdated, the newest having been filled out last Sunday.

With a sigh Crowley put back the papers and resealed the envelope. Moving deeper into the room, he saw that the different shelves and boxes were labeled by section. But it was so disorderly, that the demon wasn't sure how much he trusted the little labels' accuracy. He strode past, ignoring most sections like budget, maintenance, and other mundane things. But stopped dead in his tracks in front of the filing cabinet labeled personnel.

It took the demon several ties to find which drawer held the security staff and once he did he had another problem entirely. He couldn't just pull up a file labeled Cain, it was obviously a alias, not something you file your taxes with. So Crowley had no other choice but to open each and every file to glance at it's ID photo. Moving as fast as he could, he worked his way through until stumbling on Cillian O'Neil, red hair and crooked nose.

Grinning devilishly, Crowley snatched the file and moved on. He couldn't afford to linger. Moving further and further into the dusty room, he scanned each and every label until he found it almost in the very back corner. Laboratories and Facilities. But to his dismay the shelf must have buckled, leaving mingled paperwork strewn over the isle. Any semblance of organization was lost long ago.

"Laboratory E, Laboratory E, Laboratory E," whispered the demon shuffling through the mess. It was impossible to tell what was what, there was just so much. He was running out of time, someone had to have noticed by now. Quickening his pace Crowley's search was becoming frantic. He simply didn't have the time to find what he needed. This wasn't going to work.

Closing his eyes, Crowley took a deep breath and focused. It wasn't really that big of a miracle, it was just that bringing anything into reality took concentration. He pictured every detail of it in his head, from the intricate snake skin cover to the ivory handle. And when he opened his eyes, a sleek brief case was in his hands just how he imagined it. Moving quickly the demon began scooping up files and shoving them in the case, it wasn't efficient or even guaranteed to have what the needed. But hell, it was all he could think of.

"Someone's coming!" whispered Barnaby racing over, almost tripping over the demon in the dark. Crowley quickly snapped close the briefcase hissing in his breath at the turning door knob. Turing his head both ways the demon searched for any ways of escape, but there was only way in and only one way out. The door was partway opened now, spilling light into the musty room. Crowley pulled Barnaby to his chest and put a hand lightly over the boy's mouth.

Kevin stepped into the records room and flicked on the lights. Looking uninterested he glanced up and down at the disorganized mess. Moving down the rows he shook his head a little. And as he went along, the back corner caught his eye. With a gasp, Kevin made a beeline for the Laboratories and Facilities section. He rushed past a crouched demon to get a better look at the mess.

"Ulgh, the shelf. This is going to take forever to clean up!" Kevin whined. An idea flashed across his mind, "Unless I didn't see it..." With a shrug the intern turned on his heel and back to the exit. Casing a final look he flicked off the light and left.

Gasping for air, Crowley let Barnaby go. Panting from exhaustion he slumped against the nearest shelf, closing his eyes for a second as the world spun.

"Why didn't he see u-are you okay?"

"I'm fine, jus-just need to catch my breath," choked out the demon. That miracle took more out of him than it should have, he'd been overdoing it lately. Unlike Aziraphale he never had to worry about getting in trouble with his superiors about using his powers but even he had his limits.

"What happened?" Barnaby gaped. He was sure that they were going to be found.

"Just a little demonic miracle. Invisibility's a parlor trick," chuckled Crowley. Invisibility was actually a pretty hard parlor trick, but the demon wasn't about to admit that to a child. Barnaby gave a nod even though he had no idea what the man was talking about. For a few minutes they sat waiting for Crowley to pull himself together. It didn't take long for the the world to stop spinning and his lungs to refill with air.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," he said taking Barnaby's hand.

************************************************************************************************************************

*seven years and four months for those of you who don't want to do math

******************************************************************************************************************

Cain gave a groan stepping out of his boss's office. He'd received quite a chewing out for loosing the subject. Now he'd lost all leads and hadn't even had a single sighting for the past two days. How could he be eluded by a child! Shaking his head in frustration he made his way toward his car. Cain was willing to search every gutter, park, and alley in London if it meant finding that boy. Hands shaking in anger his keys dropped to the cement. And with a growl he bent down to pick them up. He had to be missing something, but what was it?

Across the parking lot his eyes fell on a lanky man holding a snake-skin suitcase in one hand and the small hand of a kid's in the other. It was the same man he saw walking in earlier. Cain was about to shrug off the pair, when he boy turned his way. It was him. Fire was growing in the well-built man's stomach as he watched the boy climb into an old-fashioned Bentley with the man. That's how the little brat did it, he had help.


	15. Chapter 15

Once again Crowley flopped onto the motel bed except this time more out of exhaustion than a flare for the dramatic. The past few days had taken a lot out of him, he was practically running on empty. But it was nothing a few hours rest couldn't fix. He felt the bed shift under him as Barnaby sat down on the edge. The boy picked up the snake-skin case from the floor and fidgeted with the latch.

"What now?" he asked popping the case open. Reaching inside Barnaby began to sift through the disorganized jumble straightening the folders into a pile.

With a groan the demon pulled himself into a sitting position, rest would have to wait. "Hopefully, one of those files will tell us where Aziraphale is,"

Barnaby gave him a confused look, how could these little slips of paper do all that?

"You see if I was some big bad corporation, I'd want to keep all my skeevy illegal things in the same place, harder for people to just stumble onto. So all we have to do is find-" Crowley reached over Bart's shoulder and pulled out the boy's file, "-Laboratory E, and that should lead us to straight to him,"

A spark of hope flared in the boy's chest. The idea of going back horrified him, but if that's what it took to be reunited then he'd leave in a heartbeat. Even though he'd only known the angel for a few days, the man was part of him. The love and comfort he'd been longing for his whole short life without knowing it. Sure Crowley was fun, exciting, and kind in his own way, but it wasn't the same as Aziraphale's warm softness. It tore a gaping hole in his heart loosing what had finally made him whole for the first time in his life.

Remembering something Crowley, began to leaf through the stack of papers before selecting one from the bottom of the stack. Cain's file. He'd almost forgotten it. It probably was nothing too useful, but in the demon's experience knowing who you're up against is half the battle. He flicked open the manila folder and started to read. Cillian O'Neil was surprisingly young only just turning 29. Even with that he'd been working for Avis Labs for the past ten years, hired at the young age of nineteen without even submitting an application. And all of his time working there stationed at the same place, Laboratory E. With a frown Crowley flipped the page. Immigrated from Ireland which in itself wasn't too surprising. But the demon stopped when he reached Cain or Cillian or whoever's criminal record. In the most recent ten-years it was fairly mellow, the occasional ticket for road rage here and there, the worst of it most likely being covered up or unknown to the government, but what caught the demon off guard are the oldest notes.

Cillian O'Neil was fourteen at the time still living in Ireland. An unhappy family life, deadbeat dad, alcoholic mother, and twelve year old little brother with Asperger's. Apparently the two brothers didn't quite get along because once or twice a month they would get called in by the neighbors to break up fights. But there was never enough cause to get the boys taken away and the parents didn't seem to care so there wasn't much the police could do. Until one night the younger brother's body was found in a ditch beaten beyond recognition. There were no prints, no murder weapon, no witnesses, and a helpful rainstorm washing away any other useful clues. With such violent murders it's usually an on the spot thing, but it was so well covered it had to be premeditated. And that left Cillian as the only suspect. He had motive, means, basically everything except evidence. So after a lengthy trial the teen walked free. There were a few more incidents on files after that but it pretty much cuts off when Cillian drops out of high school and runs away at sixteen. But somehow he must have attracted the attention of Avis Labs, with them reaching out to him and offering a job.

Cain, Crowley had just assumed he picked the nickname to sound cool. But whether it was given to him or he took the moniker on himself, it ran much deeper than that. For a moment the demon pondered if the man kept the name out of shame or pride. A constant reminder of his shortcomings or a deadly warning to his peers? Maybe a bit of both.

"Did you find it?" the small voice snapped Crowley back to the present.

"It's nothing, not what we're looking for," the demon closed the file and slipped it to the side. No need to upset the boy. Accepting the man's answer Barnaby gave a shrug and turned to the briefcase. Crowley had packed It as many papers as he could fit, it would take some time to sort it all out. This must have also came across the demon's mind because to Barnaby's surprise swiped up the case and spilled it's contents into the middle of the bed in one fluid motion. Tossing the empty case face up next to the mess he gave a little clap.

"So here's the plan Bart w-"

"Barnaby,"

"So we work at the same time, checking each file's title for Location E. And if it's not we just toss it back into the case," explained Crowley ignoring the boy's interruption. For example he picked up the closest folder and gave it a quick scan before sending it sailing into the open snake-skin suit case. It a little demonic miracle it landed right inside.

"Here give it a try," grinning he handed a file to the boy. Barnaby cautiously opened it starting at the symbols. He couldn't do this, he had no idea how. But he had to, he had to help. Not knowing what to do, he just stared at the paper and with each passing second the feeling that he should be doing something was pressing harder and harder. The anxiety and helplessness that had been gathering in his stomach was starting to spill tremble as he intensely fixed his brown eyes on the paper. For a second his own panic surfaced into the demon's mind. What if he just handed a child something not even

"Is something wrong?" Crowley didn't need to be able to sense fear to see something was bothering the boy. His small face was scrunched up in concentration, hands giving a adults could stand to see? How could he be so careless!

Quickly the pulled the file from the boy's hand and flipped it around. But it wasn't some dark horror, just a distribution center in Belize. A wave of relief passed over him quickly followed by confusion. Looking over the paper he could still see a pained look on the boy's face.

"What's go-"

"I'm sorry, but I-I can't," his olive face was quickly turning red, "I can't read," the boy said it as if admitting a crime.

"Oh buddy, it's okay. I should of asked, it's my fault," Crowley felt like kicking himself. Even if Bart was a normal boy, he would have some trouble reading the long words. What did he expect?

"You know, when all this blows over I can teach yo-" the heart-felt promise got caught in his mouth. How could he promise that when he had no idea what was going to happen the sweet boy? Crowley had been so focused on Aziraphale that he completely forgot the future. Just ditching Bart with some random humans was out of the question, even without the wings. He couldn't just abandon the boy after all of this. But he couldn't straight up adopt him either. His barren flat was no place to raise a child and over the years Anthony J. Crowley had upset a good many dangerous people. Of threat of to himself of course but Barnaby was just a mortal. Still a pang of jealously flashed in his heart at the thought of someone else raising the kid. His shook his head, he'd cross that bridge when he got there. Now he had a mission, the rest would have to wait.

"You can do that?" Barnaby asked meeting the demon's shaded eyes.

"Everyone has to learn it from somewhere. Took me a couple decades to pick it up," said Crowley. Seeming reassured by that, Barnaby gave a hesitant smile and sat up a little.

"Then I guess it's up to me," shrugged the demon looking down at the files. A sly smile reached his lips as he reached a hand over to flick on the television. Chuckling under his breath as Bart jumps up in surprise and wonder at the moving pictures.

****************************************************************************************************************

"I tried running his plates but they're not in the system," Cain explained to the head of security, "Except with a 1933 Bentley it's not that hard to track down,"

"So?"

"They're hiding out in a small motel just within the city limits. And checking the online records the room is booked under an Anthony J. Crowley, " continued Cain with a hint of pride in his voice.

This caught the director's attention, "Are you sure that this is the man?"

"Absolutely,"

"Fine, take a strike team. But remember if you mess up it's your position at stake," he warned darkly. Cain nodded, he knew. There was much more than just a job at risk if he failed. He had to be perfect this time, he thought stepping out of the office. He moved down the hall and into meeting room 4. Even though, the less than legal parts of Avis Labs was better known in the security department, he still had to play it safe. One leak could spell disaster.

Inside most of his team was already waiting for him. He picked them out himself over the years, criminals, ex-military, some police who didn't mind bending the rules. Men and women who didn't mind watching over the morally questionable parts of the program, occasionally making people who are a little too nosy disappear. Not necessarily the easiest co-workers but they got the job done.

"How did it go?" asked Owens. The others looked up, finally noticing Cain had entered.

"We got a strike team cleared and are to engage imminently,"

"Okay I rally up a dozen or so and sto-" he rambled. Owens made a good second in command, a logistics man, always thinking of the details, but sometimes missed the bigger picture.

"No," Cain barked. That was his mistake last time. "We go low profile, You, me, Edwards, Martina, and Vick," If the bookseller hadn't seen him coming, they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. No, this time he was going to do it right. Get in, shoot the man, capture the asset, and leave. For a second his team looked like they wanted to argue but held their tongues. Here Cain's word was law.


	16. Chapter 16

Slipping his hands under his shades and rubbing his eyes, Crowley gave a groan. He'd been working on this for hours, and still he had nothing to show for it except a splitting headache. With a sigh, he tossed the file into the already overflowing briefcase. He only had about ten files left and not a single mention of Laboratory E. What if he hadn't even grabbed the right one?

"How did you get all of those in there in the first place?" Barnaby asked looking up from his toy cars. He laid flat on his stomach relaxing his wings, fidgeting with the small models contently.

"Well, it took a little bit of a miracle..." Crowley admitted leaning back. His serpentine eyes glancing over to the windows. They had pulled the blinds when they first got the room. Wouldn't want any awkward, hard to explain situations. A shadow crossed the window as someone passed by. It was getting late, strange for people still to be wandering around. Speaking of that, it was time Bart got some sleep.

The demon reached over and flicked off the Golden Girls, "Come on, it's past your bedtime,"

"What's a 'bedtime'?"

"Just get ready for bed," chuckled Crowley. The last thing he needed was a grumpy seven-year-old in the morning. Watching from the corner of his eye, another shadow crossed the window. Possibly the same guy heading back to his room. With a shrug Barnaby headed to change and Crowley moved to clear off the bed. Gathering up the small cars and settling them on the nightstand before closing the briefcase and sliding it under the bed. He left out the last few files, night-vision was given for any demon and a little light reading wouldn't hurt anybody. After that he would rest, recharge a bit until sunrise. Though he stopped admitting it, he was still running low. These last few hours had helped, but it wasn't a substitute for real rest. With miracles it wasn't a weariness affecting the body as much as the mind. It took energy away from his celestial form which in essence was connected to his mind, his being, not necessarily his body. And as long as his brain was working, he wasn't recharging as fast as he should.

"Goodnight, Mister Crowley," thin arms wrapped around the demon's chest in a tentative hug, unsure if it was okay. With a smile, he gave an affirming hug back. Relaxing against the bigger man, Barnaby tightened his grip.

"Night," Crowley stayed like that for a few moments before letting the boy slip out of his arms and into bed. Bart wrapped himself in the covers and bundled himself in his wings like a little nest. Standing up and stretching, the Crowley cast one final glance around the room before flicking off the lights.

*************************************************

Owens straightened up in his seat as the motel room went dark. Finally, he thought. They had been casing this place for hours and his legs were starting to fall asleep. He was some dying to get in on some action. Besides Owens was more than ready to put all of this behind him. This mess was really getting on his nerves, shady back-alley deals he could deal with but missing children was another thing. He slipped out his handgun and put his palm on the handle.

"That's it, let's g-"

"No," Cain growled from behind the steering wheel. "We don't want to rush this," he narrowed his dark eyes at the pulled curtains. Watching for any indication of life. But they stayed completely still, not a flicker of motion. The targets must have turned in for the night. Perfectly unaware. With a resounding slam the back van door closed.

"Nothing, the coast's clear," reported Martina taking her seat between Vick and Edwards. She pulled out a rifle from under the seat and began to meticulously check it. Almost lovingly running her hands over it as she adjusted the pieces. She got this rifle years ago, through wars and robberies, it was her lucky charm. Fiddling with the long-range scope she cast a hopeful glance toward their leader. But Cain's eyes were stayed locked on the dark window. And as the minutes dragged by, it stayed unchanged.

"Okay, quick in quick out. Vick take point," he growled slipping into the parking lot. Four shadows quickly followed close behind, careful not to make a sound. Like ghosts in the night they made a beeline to the motel room door, moving on instinct ingrained long ago after years of fieldwork. Pressing his back against the wall, Cain focused down at the lock. It was one of the electronic types, a magnetic key card scanner. Easy. Waving Edwards forward, the Irishman glances over his shoulder. Not a single soul.

Edwards pulled what looked like a phone out of his pocket and pressed it against the plastic plate. Tapping in a few commands the small light on the plate flashed from red to green. Pulling his sidearm out in front of him, Vick easily inched the door open. Silently he stepped through the threshold aiming his muzzle into the inky blackness. He took another step, but before he had a chance to flick on the light something hard slammed into his side. Air was forced out of Vick's chest and his sidearm from his fingers. Desperately he grappled blindly for his attacker but couldn't seem to get a grip on it. Realizing this Crowley rushed forward again, this time slamming the man's head into the nightstand.

Taking in his breath the demon looked down at the now limp body, but his victory was short-lived. Two more men barged into the lightness room, scanning for dangers lurking in the dark. Yellow eyes instantly recognized one of the hulking men and fury began to burn hotter in Crowley's gut. Cain, the man who started this whole nightmare. Diving at the closest one, Crowley knocked the smaller one off his feet before the thug could let off a shot. But much to the demon's dismay he couldn't reach Cain before the red-head flicked on the lights.

With a hiss, Crowley shielded his eyes as light flooded the room. And before he could find his bearings a solid fist barreled into his jaw. Staggering back the lanky man caught himself on the bedpost instead of toppling headfirst into the floor. It had been a while since he last had to take a punch, a good decade or so. Ignoring the spinning in his skull, Crowley pulled himself up just a little too late to keep Cain's knuckles from grazing his ribs. A wave of burning ran through them give a new sharpness to the demon's rage. Lashing out with more strength than a man should have, he propelled his own fist into the larger man's temple. Cain shuttered back from the blow but somehow managed to stay on his feet. Like some sort of beast he planted his feet and gave off a snarl.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Exactly, you bloody bastard!" yelled the demon in a mad lunge. But this time Cain was ready, pushing away Crowley's fist before it could even get close. And for the first time since stepping into the room he finally got a chance to look at it. A basic low-end motel, telly, bed, a nightstand with some toy cars on it, and a bathroom down the hall. But to the Irishman's annoyance, not a child in sight.

"This is none of your business. Just had over the boy, and stay out of this," Cain growled as he was clipped by one of the demon's thrusts. Without missing a beat the human threw back his own fist in retaliation.

Crowley easily pivoted out of the way, "Not until I tear your god-damned throat out of your god-damned body!"

This caught the military man's attention, "This is personal for you, isn't it?" He narrowed his eyes on the livid demon like a cat on an injured bird, "But I think I would remember a son of a bitch like you,"

Crowley didn't bother with a response, rushing forward with a shout. But instead of slamming his fist to the human's skull, he wrapped his bleeding hands around Cain's thick throat. Not expecting the swift maneuver, the hulk of a man barely had a chance to register what was happening before the two tumbled to the carpet. Cain bucked under the choke-hold and jammed his knee into the smaller man's stomach but Crowley held on steadfast. Cain tried again harder and harder in his frustration, but still the shaded man on top of him was stronger than he looked.

The demon was barely thinking anymore, simply reverting back to his natural instinct. He was exhausted and in pain, which all seemed to bleed together into rage. All he could see and could think was of squeezing the life out of the squirming mass of flesh beneath him. He clamped down his fingers tighter and tighter, feeling the slams against his stomach and chest weaken. Cain's eyes seemed to dull for a moment before snapping onto something above Crowley's shoulder.

A pair of hands pulled the demon off of his victim and threw the lanky man-shaped being to the ground. A fourth man had slipped in and now was pointing a handgun at the demon's chest. But Crowley knew better, even behind a steeled face a slight quiver of the hands said it all. This man wasn't a fighter, no matter how unfazed he was by violence. Using this to his advantage, Crowley sprung to his feet and darted straight into the path of the gun. The under-trained man barely had a chance to blink before it was out of his hands and flying across the room.

The man watched its path as knuckles slammed into his cheekbone. But there was a reason Cain chose him for the mission, he snapped back quickly and pulled Crowley into a headlock. The read-head grappled at the hold unsuccessfully, he simply wasn't at the right angle. With a hiss, he jammed his shoulder with all the force he could muster into his attacker's gut. Gasping for air, the thug released the chokehold for a second before unceremoniously tackling Crowley's torso. The two began to thrash around like an ungraceful ameba of arms and legs each trying to get the upper hand.

Face pressed against the cheap carpet Cain began to stir. His throat burned with each breath and tiny dots danced in the corners of his eyes. How long had it been since someone had come this close to taking him down? At least five years. And that man weighed at least double than this twink. It wasn't natural for a man that size to be as strong as he was. Straining his muscles the Irish-man lifted himself onto his elbows. He'd heard of adrenaline doing crazy things to a man, but this was a completely different game. Pulling himself to his knees, Cain's eye caught a flicker of movent under the bed.

Still struggling with the under-trained man, Crowley reached out and grabbed a fistful of black curls. The man yelped in pain and desperately tried to jerk away. Crowley's small moment of sadistic satisfaction was cut short as a high pitched scream pierced the room. Golden eyes snapped with rage to Cain now on his feet, grappling with a squirming Barnaby in his arms. The child was in full panic, failing about and flapping as if trying to take flight. Bone and russet feathers made an awful crack as it crashed into the already crooked nose. Cain grit his teeth and snarled as blood started to rush down his face. It was far from his first beak and definitely wouldn't' be his last, he wasn't going to let his target slip through his fingers again.

Crowley pushed himself forward but a persistent arm around his neck pulled him back. He didn't have the time to deal with this! Hissing the demon jammed his nails into the soft flesh hard enough to draw blood. His attacker's yelp was cut off as a pulse of unearthly energy rushed from his arm and into his whole body. The man dropped like a bag of bricks. Crowley hardly noticed, crossing the room in two determined strides. He grabbed a fist of Cain's shirt and slammed the larger man against the wall.

"Put him down now," snarled Crowley tightening his grip. Cain narrowed his eyes trying to lock them with the dark shades. It was becoming harder to keep a grip on the boy, especially when he was forced to use only one arm. The Irishman knew he couldn't defend himself like this. He pushed Barnaby away and swiftly pounded his fist into Crowley's stomach. Even as air rushed out of his chest painfully the demon held on and tapping into supernatural strength flipped the larger man over his shoulder. Cain grunted and pulled Crowley down with him.

"Mister Crowley!" Barnaby took a step closer brown eyes wide with fear.

"Bart, stay back," warned the lanky man deflecting a fist. The boy hesitated a second before backing up against the far wall. He wanted to help, to stop the monster of his nightmares from hurting his friend; but Crowley's tone held him in place. He couldn't disobey, after all those years obedience was ingrained within him. So, Barnaby watched helplessly as tears began to overflow. His whole body began to shake and the world seemed to fade, leaving the child unable to move or even think, so absorbed by his terror.

But Crowley didn't have the chance to help, Cain was on top of him landing blow after blow into the demon's chest and face. Crowley tried to push him off, kicking and punching, but he was long past exhaustion and his human form was starting to fail. His head rattled with each punch, little stars danced in the corners of his eyes. Every cell in his earthy shell was screaming in pain. But he couldn't give up, not after going this far. Failure now not only meant losing all hope of finding Aziraphale, but dooming Barnaby back to a life worse than death. Alone for the rest of his days with test after test, all the while knowing what kind of life he could have had. Crowley wouldn't let that happen, he would fight to his dying breath to protect that young life he only had just started to get to know.

But there was nothing he could do. Almost lost for strength Crowley let his hands fall to the carpet. As another blow sent a spasm through his body a piece of cold metal touched his fingers. Just almost within the demon's reach. He stretched further trying to inch it into his grip.

"So you decided to give up?" Cain grinned, his face horrible with his own blood and twisted in malice. But he wasn't going to relent his attack, not until the lanky man was dead or unconscious, Cain didn't really care which. The sooner he could get this roadblock out of his way the better. Beneath him the man had stopped struggling, laying limply with his arms to either side of him. Cain felt himself relax, it wouldn't be much longer now. With another punch, Crowley's strange sunglasses were knocked to the side. The demon's now revealed eyes remained closed.

The Irishman paused, it was over. He let his muscles relax and unclenched his fists. All was left to do was grab the boy and dispose of the body. And who knew, maybe the higher-ups would give him a few weeks vacation for his efforts. With some effort Cain stood back up to his feet, turning his eyes to face Barnaby. The boy was trying to press himself closer against the wall, he was shaking like a leaf. Russet wings puffed out in an animal instinct to make himself look bigger. But when Cain looked into the child's watering eyes, he could see that the boy wasn't entirely there. The brown eyes were unfocused as if looking far away and flickering to follow something that was only in his memory.

A flicker of movement caused Cain to twist his head back. In an instant, his eyes locked with a pair of unearthly yellow ones, pupils long black slits like a cat's or maybe a snake. Something cold drove into the large man's head making him to fall back to the cheaply carpeted floor. Vision blurring, Cain looked up to see the barrel of his own handgun pointing back at him. Behind it stood the lanky man he thought was out for good. But somehow the gun wasn't his biggest concern. Those eyes seemed to stare right into his soul. This wasn't right, that man wasn't human.

Every ounce of his demonic instinct was screaming at Crowley to pull the trigger. End this, now and forever. It would be so easy, just a little squeeze of his finger and instant revenge. He wanted to, he really did. But a small gasp reached his ears. Barnaby was watching from the corner, looking slightly more aware but still distant. The boy took a feeble step forward, face contorting with conflicting emotions. He was relieved that his protector was winning, but something about Crowley's face scared him. He looked angry, wild, like some sort of beast. A best with yellow eyes. After just barely coming out of his flashback, all of it was too much for Barnaby's clouded brain to process.

Crowley paused. Barnaby had already seen so many horrible things, what right did he have to show him another. This wouldn't bring closure, all it would do is hurt him. With a sigh, the demon lowered the gun and snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took me so long. Who knew all it would take to give me writing time is a pandemic? I promise I have not given up on this story, I'm just busy with school. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the update. You all are amazing.


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